Fortitude
by Eponine Salvatore
Summary: AUish after book/movie four. Hermione's journey through fifth year until she disappears during the summer after the end of her sixth year.
1. Prologue: A Future Vision

**Author's Note:** _If you're reading this, I am now working on updating all the chapters of Fortitude, as now that I have read through them, I have caught quite a few errors. After I complete my update, I will be adding new chapters! Rejoice!_

**Disclaimer**_: I own nothing._

A_ group of wizards and witches, both young and age-wizened, gathered around a table. The table was beaten, worn at the edges, and propped up by a stack of history books on one side - but it bore the thing that might save them all. They discussed the plans for the upcoming battle in hushed tones, one of the party occasionally glancing over his or her shoulder. Various scenarios were considered for the battle that could happen anywhere from a few weeks to several months. Their latest information held that Voldemort was unprepared still and wanted his victory to be insured and absolute._

_The loud _pop_ of Apparation interrupted the discussion and as they all started. Wands were drawn and pointed at the figure that stood near the door. A witch in Death Eater garb face them and , she clutched in one hand her mask and the other hand was pressed against blood soaked black robes. Powerful enough still for silent and wandless shield-casting, she lifted her brown eyes as curses bounced off her – and then stopped completely once those in the room realized who she was._

_ In complete shock, some of them finally remembered that true Death Eaters could not get past the wards of the Fidelius-charmed safe house, and that the secret keeper was Harry Potter himself. Most of the occupants were pale; after all, they were seeing a ghost._

_The thin face of Hermione Granger looked up at them all; her brown eyes were wide and her hair wilder than usual. Her lips, chapped and blood-flecked, formed two words before she collapsed from the loss of blood. "They come," was all she said._

_After a foreboding silence, the room erupted into complete chaos than it had when she arrived. A dark figure separated from the wall and nearly glided over to the prone woman and gathered her up, with murmured words of, "Episkey, Ammendo." Despite the betrayal etched onto the man's face, there was still great tenderness in his eyes._

_He would have done the same thing she had, without thinking and without regrets, if their positions had been reversed. Yet still, he knew he would not forgive her so easily, nor would any of the others in the room. A pair of furious green eyes met his dark ones, and he knew that this was not over for Hermione Granger and her true trials had, perhaps, just begun. If she survived, he might just kill her himself for what she had done. For the past six months, they had thought her dead. _

_If they all survived, that was._


	2. Chapter One: The Feast and the Toad

**Author's Note:  
><strong>_Well, here's the first real chapter. I've started on the second chapter, but it will probably take some time yet, what with the hols and all...and the silly child of mine. I hope you like! Read & Review!  
><em>

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing.**  
><strong>_

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><p><strong>Chapter One: The Feast and the Toad<strong>

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><p>It was the start of term feast for his fifth year at Hogwarts and Hermione was already shoving a study planner for OWLs in his hand even as the last student to be sorted stepped away from the stool – Slytherin, he noted, a scrawny blonde girl whose name he would not even care to recall the next day. "Now, I am sure you two know by now that this is our OWL year. This year is <em>important<em>. If you two want to be Aurors you mustn't slack off and start studying _tonight_," she was stressing to him and Ron, although both were only paying half-attention to her. Hermione had been frazzled on the train ride over, talking about the stresses OWL classes would heap on them. "You must be on top of your homework this year! Slacking off will hurt your chances for success and your grades!"

Planners forgotten on the benches beside them, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were only concerned about the plentiful feast that was laid out before Harry bit into his steak, he heard Hermione mutter, "Honestly, I don't know why I bother," before she used a nice bit of wand work to control her knife and fork to cut her steak while she dug out a textbook she had been reading over the summer. Cracking it open, one hand held the book, and the other held the steak.

Perhaps Madame Pince would have been in horror over what Hermione was doing, but the girl had cast several spells on the book to repel water and grime.

"Only our Hermione would start on homework and studying before term has even started," Ron rolled his eyes pointedly at the sight of the mousy girl diligently reading what looked to be the last chapter of a Transfiguration theory book that had not even been assigned reading for that year. She sent him a scathing glare, but sensed that it was futile to lecture him on the benefits of light reading. She had done it far too often in the past and had given up most hope. Harry laughed as his red-haired friend continued shovelling food in his mouth at an alarming rate, ignoring the look Hermione was giving him. She sighed with frustration and went back to eating absent-mindedly; her full attention on what was no doubt a fascinating piece of information.

The laughter and chatting of friends reunited filled up the Great Hall that evening, and despite the threat that Harry (and his friends) knew that the wizarding world faced again and the undertones of worry and world-weariness that highlighted the professors too-happy smiles, he thought that tonight, at least, they could still be young.

"_Ahem._" The voice was squeaky, high-pitched, female – the newest professor. Harry had identified her to those seated near him as a Ministry worker. After all, she had been against him at his trial that summer. His eyes shot to Hermione, who looked up at the woman - "_Ahem_." - with a vehemence usually reserved for one of them when they interrupted her studies. The interruption of the new DADA teacher had the entire Great Hall held rapt, including the teaching staff. Interruptions once supper started was rare. After she started speaking, few students paid close attention to what she was saying. Harry thought it was mostly drivel, but obviously Hermione could understand it much better than any of the students. Her expression went from one of mild irritation to near-rage.

"Bloody hell," Ron said after the scattered applause died down, "What was that all about?"

"Don't you see? She is here on behalf of the Ministry, that much was clear from the beginning. The toad is telling us that the Ministry is going to be interfering at Hogwarts," Hermione clarified, her voice quiet as he and Ron listened in. "It has to be because of Harry and He-Who-" she cut herself off as he narrowed his eyes. "_Voldemort,_" she finished with a whisper. Ron flinched; despite all their practice, he still was afraid of the name.

Harry grew quiet and thoughtful, a frown marking his lips as he unconsciously lifted his hand to rub at his scar. It had been hurting him all summer – ever since the graveyard. He had tried to keep it a secret from his friends, but as soon as he had arrived at Grimmauld Place, the truth had come out. "This is bad, right?" he asked, catching the worried look that had started to spread across his best friend's face and dropping his hand abruptly.

Hermione nodded, worrying at her bottom lip. "I fear so." She noted, of course, that he had been rubbing at his scar _again_. She knew what that meant, and exchanged glances with Ron before scanning the rest of the room. Most students either looked confused or had returned to animated conversations with their peers, but there were a few of the older ones that understood the implications of the speech.

Up at the professors table, Hermione noticed that the reactions of most of the teachers were similar to hers, only more guarded. Professor Trelawney looked as airy as ever, though. Hermione snorted -that woman was oblivious to the truth and lived in her own mind. The Headmaster's eyes weren't twinkling as he turned to a grave Professor McGonnagal, though he smiled as he started saying something to her that apparently broke some of the attention as muffled laughter from those at the table carried down to her.

Professor Snape's eyes were glittering with disgust and disdain despite the strained laughter that the rest of the table was beginning to adopt. She could not help but stare at the dark look on his face; he looked positively dangerous. Perhaps Harry was right and he could not be trusted, but Hermione believed that the Headmaster knew what he was doing. Her lips pursed and she sucked the bottom one in. Then his gaze turned from Umbridge to her, and she flinched, ashamed. Heat spread into her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

"Hermione, are you paying attention?" That came from Ron. "We think if Harry can put a twist on the Wronski Feint, just so -" he demonstrated some complex move with his hands, and it just went over her head "- Slytherin will be taken off guard and we can win the first match of the year." Oh, Quidditch. She appreciated how they tried to include her in their conversations, so she smiled and quietly agreed before going back to her reading. Her teeth rested on her bottom lip as she thought about what Umbridge's speech meant to Hogwarts and Harry than what she was reading. Part of her mind rested on the transfiguration. It was interesting to know that the more precise and rigid the wand movements were, the better and stronger the outcome of a spell. Charms worked the opposite – fluid movements were better for the creative charms work. Other disciplines varied, according to the book.

Her eyes roved the page for a moment longer, before flicking back up to the teacher's table. Professor Snape appeared to be listening attentively to something that Professor Flitwick was saying, although Hermione could tell that his eyes still rested on the Ministry interloper. His expression, however, was schooled impassiveness.

She averted her eyes again; it would not do to be caught staring twice. "So, who do you think will win the World Cup next year?" she interjected into the conversation. Hermione's out-of-character question was met with at first incredulous glances, then a rousing debate over whether or not the Cannons would actually make it even halfway to the Cup. She grinned and nodded and added fuel to the fire by suggesting the Holyhead Harpies would win, although she could not back it up with statistics or even real information. Ginny joined in the conversation then, backing up the Holyhead Harpies. The spirited girl was much better at handing Quidditch conversations than Hermione ever suspected she would be.

Hermione's keen observation noted that Ginny's eyes did not stray far from Harry; she hoped that her friend would soon take the hint. As the debate grew into a roaring argument that soon involved both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Quidditch teams and several Hufflepuffs, she snickered at the brilliant distraction she had created and turned her thoughts inward.

Just what was the Ministry planning for Hogwarts? She did not like the anti-Harry propaganda that Fudge was sanctioning, especially after the Dementor attack and the trial. It would not do for the government to ignore the threat of the Dark Lord. She suppressed her frown; Harry would need stalwart allies this year at Hogwarts, especially with the way that woman made the situation sound.

Harry's scar worried her, as well – Dumbledore had explained at the end of fourth year that Harry and Voldemort had a connection forged by the killing curse. Hermione just knew that once Voldemort realized that, the dark wizard would exploit the connection that the scar provided and Harry would be hard pressed to fight back against him. Research into dark curses and the accidental connections was another thing on Hermione's plate and mind, although she had not made much headway at the Grimmauld Place library. Perhaps the Restricted Section would have more, as the professors sought to remove the darkest books from the headquarters.

So – Umbridge and Harry's scar. Hermione had other ideas for projects this year, but those were the two most important things. Professor Umbridge would require some spy work, in order to discover just what her purpose was, unless it came out in a less subtle way than the speech. These thoughts occupied her mind for the better part of the feast, and she had to be jolted out of them as everyone around her stood up. Harry had a strange look on his face when he, "You okay, Hermione?" Startled, her eyes widened and she nodded.

"Yes, just thinking," she forced a smile. Since she and Ron were Prefects, she stood up and called out to the first years just as Percy Weasley had done for her class when they were first years. Ron and the older prefects joined her, and soon they had a gaggle of young children to lead up the moving staircases to the seventh floor entrance of Gryffindor tower. On the way, Hermione lectured about the dangers of trick stairs, especially after one young girl's ankle was swallowed up by the one on the second floor east-wing staircase.

"Now, curfew is at 8 o'clock and lights-out is at 10. Breakfast tomorrow morning is at 7 o'clock and is an hour and a half long," Hermione informed the first-years, "I _highly_ suggest you keep on top of your homework and do it the evening it is assigned before curfew in the library, as the Common Room becomes quite loud in the evenings." As they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, she turned and frowned at the group – one of the older Prefects had chosen the password, and Hermione was not fond of it. "The password is _dungeon bat_."

Almost everyone sniggered; the first years without older siblings at Hogwarts now appeared horribly confused, and whispered questions spread through the small crowd. "What's so funny?" they asked. "Is it a joke?" Hermione sighed. The first years would soon be holding Professor Snape in equal disrespect and fear as the rest of the Gryffindors did. Well, she did not – but she had to admit, she certainly did not like him. The students filed past her after the portrait swung open, and she pondered the dangerous look on his face. Which master did he serve, truly? Was Dumbledore right to trust him? Strangely, another few questions popped into her head, these ones unfamiliar to her. What did _he_ think about the Ministry's toady taking the position everyone knew he sought after, year after year? What would he do about it? Would he do anything? She banished such thoughts; she really should not focus on her Professor.

Most of the other students were now in the common room and the prefects were showing them the dormitories, by the sounds of things. "Well? Are you going to go in or not?" the Fat Lady chided impatiently. "I can't hang open all day, you know." Hermione muttered a brief apology. As she herself stepped into the Gryffindor common room, she had the familiar sense of home wash over her. Though she was a Muggleborn and her parents lived in non-wizarding Britain, she was still a witch. Her parents were fascinated by magic and proud of her achievements, but ever since Hogwarts, she had always felt more at home at school than when on break.

The rich gold of the walls and the crimson red of the upholstery, the cushions gilded with gold braiding, Gryffindor's Common Room looked exactly as she had remembered it. Ron had already set up the chess table and had invited some witless first year to play against him. Chess still brought back bad memories of their first year, when they were the chess pieces; she had thought it was positively barbaric previously. Her favourite alcove was empty and she grinned. It had always been the perfect place to study, especially if she cast a Silencing Charm on the rest of the room.


	3. Chapter Two: Occlumency and the Snake

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling._

**Author's Note:**_ Well, to those of you that are celebrating Christmas, Merry Christmas! I managed a lot of "me time" in the past few days, as my son is getting old enough to entertain himself in his play yard or his swing for more than five minutes, and this is how I spent it. Thank Merlin! Writing is my release, and usually I write just for myself, but I think I am going to enjoy my written word. Oh, in other news, I'm exceptionally happy right now. My boyfriend proposed to me last Thursday! I'm going to get married! I have no idea when, yet, but wow! Thank you to everyone who read, favorited, and alerted. Now...we need some reviews! _

_I don't intend on making this a short story by any means, especially in terms of Severus and Hermione getting yes, I know the time-line isn't quite right, but I'd rather the events at the end of this chapter happen now._

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Occlumency and the Snake<strong>

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><p>After she had been studying for a few hours, she felt someone settle down into the seat beside her. Shifting, she turned to address whoever dared interrupt her studies, lips parting and a harsh reprimand at the ready. That reprimand withered and died when she saw Harry. His lips were downcast and he was frowning. Perplexed at the look on her friend's face, she took note of where she was in her book and closed it. Right now, Hermione knew that Harry needed a listening ear more than she needed to go over the twelve uses of dragon's blood for the tenth time. Her brow creased as she looked at him; his eyes were downcast and he had a frown on his face. "Seamus' mum didn't want him returning to Hogwarts this year because of me. He didn't want to sleep in the same dorm room anymore," he explained. "They think I killed Cedric. Seamus thinks I killed Cedric, and Dean says he's lucky <em>his<em> mum doesn't get the Prophet."

How dare they treat him like that after all he had been through? Seamus, while not having been close to Harry, still had been his friend for over four years now! Dean, too, but at least Harry seemed to have gotten less opposition from him. Hermione's hand shook slightly, but she contained the rest of her anger – now was not the time. "Dumbledore told everyone what happened," she assured, "We believe you and the Order believes you. Whoever reads and thinks that drivel is correct is an idiot. You know what really happened." Harry's face darkened even more and his hands clenched. Okay, so that was not the right thing to say.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. She could not help but notice, not for the first time, how small her hand looked on his shoulder now. He had gotten even taller and broader. He was growing up, and should be a teenager in his prime. _He should be just like the other fifth year boys, the ones who didn't have to fulfil a prophecy._ But he wasn't a kid anymore. Not after the things he had seen that summer, not after the things he had seen and done every year since he was eleven. "I didn't kill Cedric, but it is my fault he is dead. I as good as killed him, Hermione," he moaned, "Even you have to see that. I should have touched the Cup first. I should have thrown myself in front of him. I should have _known_. It wasn't his fight, Hermione. And now...now he's gone." Even though Cedric had never been close to the trio of Gryffindors, they all mourned his death and none more so than Harry. He had, all summer long, tried to take responsibility for the older boy's death but no one would accept that it had been his fault.

"Harry, it was his fight. Now that Voldemort's back he is not going to stop at just you, Harry. He wants everyone to submit to him, and while Cedric was a casualty of war, it is not your fault he is dead," Hermione tried to assure him. It was true, too. Everyone at Hogwarts would be involved one way or another, eventually. The Death Eater sympathizers would assuredly either join with Voldemort directly or provide assistance in other ways. Those of the light – every single one – would stand and fight. No one that stood with Harry would want the world to spiral into darkness. "It is Voldemort's fault, and Cedric's death _must_ give you a reason to stand strong against him." Hermione knew that she and Ron would need to build up Harry's self-confidence that year; it would be a trying task for them all, but they would make it through – together.

Harry groaned and his frown deepened. "Don't you think I don't know that? If I was stronger I would have been able to defeat him for good," he lamented, putting his head in his hands, shaking it from side to side. "My scar's been hurting all summer. I see him. He haunts my dreams, Hermione. That day, in the graveyard, it was _awful. _The green light..." He trailed off and Hermione leaned over to embrace him. She had known that his scar had been hurting; it was something that he couldn't hide from her or Ron any more. She had not known about the dreams, and it worried her deeply.

"You need to tell Dumbledore about your scar and your dreams, Harry," she urged. Hermione hoped he would. Every other time he had not told the Headmaster and something bad always happened. It could just be that Harry's scar was more active now that Voldemort had his body back, but she couldn't believe that. There had to be another explanation. He shook his head, and the force sent his tousled hair flying around him. If Hermione was a more emotional, sentimental, gossipy girl like her dorm mates, she would have claimed to see the future in the way his hair formed a halo around his head. Harry hunched over and had a curious expression on his face as he regarded her.

"He's been ignoring me all summer. I don't want to bother him." Hermione chewed on her lip. She knew that Dumbledore would want to know, but she couldn't understand why he wasn't treating Harry the same way he had before the third task, before the summer, before Voldemort returned. "Maybe he blames me for Voldemort's return. After all, Voldemort used my blood in that potion." She let her eyes close. It was going to take a very long time for Harry to realize that he could not blame himself for everything. Not everything was always his fault. Poor Harry, she thought. Even without Voldemort, he had a rough summer. How strange was it that Dementors attacked him in Little Whinging, and he even had to stand trial. He could have been expelled, and Hermione was still positive that it was a fate second only to death. She knew she would just die of mortification if she was ever expelled even if she deserved it. Still, she worried about Harry and the myriad of emotions he had to be feeling. He wore them on his sleeve and was open about them, which was good. Hermione would worry even more if he repressed everything with anger, because hate lead down the path to darkness and if Harry Potter became a dark wizard, than everyone would suffer.

"He doesn't," Hermione assured him.

"How could you know?" he asked, reflecting the question she asked herself.

With more conviction than she felt, she said, "I just do, Harry. Dumbledore would not turn his back on you this easily. He is supporting you, Harry, but I am certain he is just severely busy this year trying to counter the Ministry."

"Maybe."

"Harry! He testified for you!"

That exclamation caused him to brighten visibly, his frown slipping away like the sands of time and becoming a small, wistful smile. Hermione inwardly mourned her friend's childhood – and what she was certain would soon be her own childhood, gone like his frown. "Thanks, Hermione. I'm sure you're right. You always are," he chuckled at his own joke. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a brief second, his chin resting on top of her head. After they separated and sat quietly for a moment, he inquired, "What are you studying?"

Hermione grinned and opened back to her page. While she knew that Harry was still entertaining the disturbing thoughts he had been having all summer concerning Cedric, Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and probably always would until he was really and truly proven wrong, she was glad he was back to acting almost normal. Normal Harry would rarely ask her what she was studying, but Hermione felt both of them relax as she used her finger to point dramatically to parts of the passage she was reading. She launched into a diatribe on the twelve uses of dragon's blood, citing a litany of sources and reasons why she needed to know that particular information.

"Hermione? We learned about that in first year," he interjected, cutting her off.

"Yes! I finally did something right!"She squealed with delight, mirth dancing in her eyes. She laughed at the expression on his face (rather like a gaping fish) before she gave her explanation. Her mirth fell from her face as she debated telling him her secret project. But this was Harry, and Hermione thought it might prove to him that he was trustworthy. Pursing her lips, she took a deep breath before launching into her project. "I'm trying to find a thirteenth use of dragon's blood, Harry. Some of the uses already – I want to combine the ideas behind them. I think that dragon's blood could be used in a powerful potion that could heal and protect at the same time, but I have to work out the rest of the equations. I'm reading to see how the other discoveries came about, but it seems that most of them, sans Nicholas Flamel's use of it in the Philosopher's Stone, were merely accidents. Oh, I_ wish _he were still alive. You heard he passed halfway through last year? Never mind, I am sure you did. Anyway -" she paused and pulled a rolled up parchment out of her bag. Unfurling it, she revealed a long scrawl of Arithmancy equations and a scrawl of Runes.

Her finger jabbed at a certain spot. "See here? That's where I am stuck. I have the basics, but the potion would only be as effective as Protego and Episkey, minor spells. I want to block against Sectumsempra, heal Avada Kedavra. I think if I juxtapose these number and add charm-work to the base of the potion, then we might get a little more..." She furrowed her brow. "Oh, I don't know! It's so hard, but I know I can do it! I have to help somehow!"

She glanced shyly up at Harry. It was very advanced work, and he was looking at her in both shock and confusion. Of course he could not understand what she had written – he had not taken Arithmancy or Ancient Runes. Hermione sighed, but slowly his face broke into a wide grin. "That's brilliant, Hermione! I'm sure you can do it! You're the smartest witch of your age, after all," he said, hugging her close again before standing up. "Thanks, you've really cheered me up. I'm getting tired – good night, Hermione!"

"Goodnight," she muttered. As she watched him go, her expression darkened. She had to do something to contribute. She knew she had never been a natural at DADA, not like Harry. Yes, Hermione was an accomplished dueler in her class, but she was not the best. She did not have as much raw talent as everyone else, especially when it came to offensive dueling. No, she was better in the more subtle arts of Defense – the actual defense, and she was fairly proficient at healing. Hermione had thought about becoming a Healer after graduation, but now she was fascinated with Potions.

Potions were an intricate art form that had an aspect of Muggle science in them. She thought perhaps that was why students with a Muggle background in chemistry fared better in Potions than in pure-bloods. Her research and reading of Potions had led her to the different sorts of healing potions and a few shielding potions, but none that did both. She knew that it would be a great boon for the light if they had such a potion. Nobody else would die at Voldemort's hand. No one would have to get hurt if she could protect it. It was for Harry – her idea. She loved him like a brother, and he shouldn't have to go through so much loss. The Wizarding World, her world, shouldn't have to lose so much brightness.

She sighed; it was complex work. She had been working on it nearly all summer at Grimmauld Place, utilizing the library for that as well as her other various projects. But this one was near and dear to her heart; if it worked out, it would be that which won the war for the light. Of course, she could not fathom failing. Hermione would accomplish it. She had to – it was for Harry, for her brother.

Hermione sighed. His scar worried her immensely. There had to be something more to his curse scar than just the lingering pain that afflicted many similar wounds. He was the only one to ever survive that curse that anyone knew of so there was not much research on how it would affect him. Combined with the dreams, Hermione suspected that there was something more ominous at work than simple curse scar pain. Since Harry would not go to Dumbledore, she would go to him herself the next morning, just after breakfast and before the first classes of the day. Her mind made up, she packed her bags and went to bed.

**-break-**

Hermione sat in the corner of Dumbledore's office that evening, knowing she made a mistake. Harry was due to arrive any moment and the atmosphere in the room could be sliced with a knife from the tension that close in on her. It was suffocating to be in his presence alone and he was so hard to read. Right now, he simply sat across from her, his eyes unfathomable and his expression stern. Yes, this had been a mistake. _Why had she gone along with Dumbledore's batty plan?_ She simply could not say, but she did not think Harry would approve.

At that moment, Harry entered. "Professor Dumbledore, you wanted to see me?" he said as he closed the door, his expression hopeful and bright. Hermione knew how much he looked up to Professor Dumbledore, and knew how much it would hurt that the dratted old man was not here. 'Urgent business with the Ministry,' he had said, his lips quirking in a maddening grin, 'I hope he understands.'

"Well, well, Mr. Potter," drawled the man across from Hermione. He stood up, towering over even Harry, "What a _pleasure_ it is to see you." The man sneered, and Hermione wondered not for the first time if there was even a pleasant bone in his body. It seemed as if he scowled at everyone. Harry's expression turned from one of blank confusion to one of utter anger, and Hermione saw the sadness in his green eyes. She shot him a look and hoped to Circe that his temper wouldn't flare.

"Professor Snape," he addressed the man, but that was all. Harry glared darkly at the Potions professor and Hermione knew then that this was a terrible idea. How could she do that to him? She could read the expression in his face: her presence made it known that she was behind all of this, although he obviously couldn't know what this was just yet. Hermione did, and with trepidation, waited for the ax to fall.

"The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term," the dark man said, spitting each word out. The look of utter disdain and – dare she say? - boredom on his face made her want to sink into the floor and never return. Harry was going to kill her; just the night before she had been trying to get him to see that he was trustworthy, he had said that he didn't want to go to Dumbledore and now the Headmaster had set Snape up to teach him extra lessons. She was dead, she knew it.

Harry was quiet for a minute, frowning. He blinked. "Study what?" Hermione was briefly taken aback by the coldness in his voice before she realized what he said. Did he really not know what Occlumency was? For a moment she considered him daft for not knowing, then rethought her position. He was raised in a Muggle household and of course could not know about the more obscure branches of magic; he didn't live in the library like she did. Still, she thought it rather odd that he still did not know what it was.

Severus Snape scowled and narrowed his eyes at Harry, and Hermione flinched. She realized that Snape was probably thinking among the same lines as she – except she had cut Harry some slack. With all the airs of someone explaining something completely obvious, Snape growled, "Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one." Hermione knew he would lose his patience soon, but she knew if she spoke out of turn that it would end just as bad if Harry did not understand soon.

"Why won't he teach me himself?"

"Because he has better things to do than watch after a dunderhead like you, Potter."

"B-but..." Harry cut himself off. Yes, she thought to herself, chewing on her bottom lip, this was definitely a very bad idea. Professor Snape could not tolerate Harry during Potions. They hated each other. For them to spend more time around each other during the week was stupid. Hermione was quite certain they would eventually kill each other. "Why is Hermione here, then?"

Her eyes widened. Crap, she would have to tell him.

"It was Granger's idea after all," Snape sneered. "Insufferable know-it-all asked Dumbledore if it would help with your..._nightmares_." He emphasized the last word. It was over. It was all over. Harry would storm out and never talk to her again. He would turn Ron against her, not that Ron would need much convincing. Lately, if she said the wrong thing his temper (even worse than Harry's) would flare and they would be at odds for days. Hermione looked down at the floor, although she glanced up through hooded eyes at Harry's expression. It changed from bewilderment to shock to...what?

He nodded. "Okay. On one condition, though," he offered Snape. It surprised Hermione beyond measure that he was agreeing so easily. She had expected him to fight tooth and nail against being taught by Severus Snape. Suddenly she had a feeling that he was relieved to have an option to block out the nightmares, even if it came with extra time spent with Snape. With his fists clenched, he stood firm. It was a commanding stance, but stubborn and childish, with his chin stuck in the air. Hermione's eyes wide, she watched as he named his demand. "Hermione takes it too."


	4. Chapter Three: Legilimency and Secrets

**Author's** **Note: **_I might be starting a full-time job soon on top of being a mother. Sorry guys, but that means my updates will probably come every two weeks instead of every week, though realistically I generally type an entire chapter in roughly three to four hours once my child goes to bed. It will just take me several nights instead of one night, because uh, I'll be more tired. The job will be paying roughly 800 every two weeks, which is a lot to me, since I've only ever made 300-400 a month before. One job gave me 800 a month, but it was a seasonal job and worked me like hell. Never want to go back. Anyway - I'm excited. My best friend helps with the hiring, so I'm really hopeful I will get it. I'll be able to splurge my first ever pay check on stupid shit to celebrate of course, but then I'll have money to budget for a car, a laptop, a family computer, furniture for when I move into my own place with my fiancé. Ha, you don't need to read my whole life story. _

_Thanks for reading, alerting, favoriting! Please, please, review, even if it's just to say "I like your story so far!" Us authors need reassurance! I welcome constructive criticism, too. Tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you'd like to see more of. I __am planning on adding more interaction with the rest of the school, classes, and stuff. Would you like to see a long story or an insanely long story, just so I know how much detail to go into? Remember, this story is going to be over at least two years, and we're only on day two of their fifth year at Hogwarts._

**Disclaimer:** _I am not making money off this. I do not own, J.K. Rowling and the various other companies do._

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: Legilimency and Secrets<strong>

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><p>Hermione gasped at Harry's request. He had to be joking! Her attention riveted on him, she didn't see Snape looking almost thoughtful as he considered the startling demand. She was so certain that Harry was doing it out of revenge to her, but she could see the benefits to him. The gears in her head turned as she recovered from the shock his suggestion gave her. It would make him work harder, to have someone he actually trusted helping him with his studies. It was always that way – without Hermione around to push them to do their work and to practice, Harry and Ron would flounder in the sea of coursework assigned to them. She worried her thumbs together, chancing a glance at Snape's now blank face. "Sir, if I may be so bold?" She kept her voice low and meek, but did not look away.<p>

He raised an eyebrow and his frown deepened as his attention diverted from Harry to her.

If that was all the response she was going to get, she thought he was an insufferable git. Actually, she thought him that already, but it did not hurt to think it even more so now. Her eyes narrowed, and she challenged him. "It _is_ a good idea. Harry and you...well, you don't exactly get along, do you? It'd be good for him to have a study partner," she suggested. She had to point out the actual flaw in Dumbledore's plan. Snape and Harry hated each other. When his brows knit together, she almost cringed. To be under Severus Snape's glare was to wither away and slowly shrink into the floor to most students, but Hermione tried to hold her ground. He had to know she was right!

The potions master finally sneered and looked down his nose at her. Even though his hair was greasy and his skin sallow, he managed to look more aristocratic and snobby than a Malfoy. Hermione had a strange thought that the look almost suited him. "Certainly," he hissed. "I don't suppose Weasley would like to join? No? I rather hoped not." If he had refused, she supposed that she could have had Dumbledore make him teach her. After all, the headmaster did desperately want Harry to learn Occlumency. She knew Ron would have absolutely no patience for learning the discipline, especially since he wasn't being forced to. Hermione was rather curious about it, and Ron would call her mad for wanting to learn even more. Strictly speaking, she mused, he would call her mad simply for putting herself willingly under extra tutelage from the dungeon bad. She grinned.

Scowling at her, he spun on his feet to face Harry. His robes billowed behind him and Hermione cringed again. This was a terrible idea. Why couldn't Dumbledore teach Harry himself? Did he not know Occlumency, or was he just busy with the ministry? If Hermione did not understand, she knew that Harry did not. He already harboured hurt feelings over Dumbledore's distance from him over the summer. She wouldn't be surprised if he viewed it as an insult to him, to pair him with Professor Snape. "It appears there is a connection between the Dark Lord's mind and your own. Whether he is, as yet, aware of this connection is for the moment unclear," their new Occlumency teacher drawled. This was definitely more for Harry's benefit than hers, but she could not fight the excitement growing in her chest at learning. Hermione recognized she should be alarmed that Harry's mind was directly connected to Voldemort's, but she had rather guessed that over the summer. It was why she had come to Dumbledore that day.

It was still rather ominous to hear confirmation of such in person, and she watched as Harry's eyes widened and his lips parted. She held back a snicker; the boy always had such trouble hiding his emotions. Wait, would that hinder him in Occlumency? She was still not sure how it worked. Perhaps it was more dreadful that he wore his emotions for all to see. If they were that obvious outside his thoughts, she could only imagine what his mind was like. No wonder he always had problems concentrating, if all that was going on. Hermione tried to keep her mind organised; it helped her remember things better.

Harry's jaw worked as he tried to respond, "You mean...You mean if he knows about it then he'll be able to read my mind?" he asked, his voice full of fear. Hermione's heart went out to him, and despite the glare that she knew she would get, she stood up and walked over to him to put her hand on his shoulder. Yes, there it was. Severus Snape's dark eyes shot to her and narrowed before he addressed Harry again.

"Read it, control it, unhinge it...Used properly, the power of Occlumency will help shield you from access or influence. In these lessons, I will attempt to penetrate your mind." He paused, and Hermione saw the tell-tale twitch of his hand to grasp his wand. Before she could warn Harry, he spoke again. "Prepare yourself. _Legilimens._" The self-satisfied smirk on his face was enough to tell her that he had succeeded in entering Harry's mind. Hermione tensed.

Suddenly, Harry reeled backwards from where he was, and averted his eyes from their teacher. She squeezed his hand in sympathy, and looked up at the Potions Master. Her expression was stormy as she confronted him. Oh, yes, there was the possibility of detention and points taken from Gryffindor, but she had to take a stand. Harry had not been prepared, had not been ready! It was entirely improper of Snape to do that. Hermione's mouth got ahead of her, and she found herself berating her professor. "That wasn't fair! You haven't told him how to properly block his mind, and you -"

"_Legilimens._"

His wand had unexpectedly (to her, at least) turned on her and cut her tirade short. She was unaware of Harry's hand clenching hers tightly, unaware at the fury that lit up his green eyes. No, all she was aware of were the dark eyes that bore into hers. She _felt_ him enter her mind. It was a forceful shove into her thoughts and memories, and her eyes widened as she realized the power that he could wield over both her and Harry if he discovered some of the things they had done. She tried to hide that thought from him, but he saw it and followed it, much to her dismay. Hermione had little time to react as she felt him filter through the thoughts in her mind, and tried in vain to fill his path up with mundane thoughts.

It was pleasant in the room.

His presence was a little terrifying.

Harry's hand was comfortable in hers.

She hoped there was steak at supper that night.

It was tiresome and eventually she gave up and tried a new tactic. She thought about him, about his presence in the Potions classroom. She brought to the forefront the overpowering feeling of respect and awe she had in her first year when he had stormed to the front of his classroom.

"_You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic," he had drawled, scowling down at all the first years. She did not notice, she was busy looking at him with rapt attention. She had read poetry, and he made Potions sound positively poetic. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." _

_Until the last lines, she thought he might have been her favorite teacher, but he ruined it by his blunt ending. Still, she supposed he would do. He asked the boy next to her – Harry Potter – a question, wrapping it up with an insult. Oh, she knew this one! Her hand raised, she waved it around. Hermione so wanted to impress this man who spoke so eloquently of his subject. It sounded more like magic than any of the subjects she had learned about thus far, and it was simply by the way he put it to them. _

She cut that thought short and brought another memory to the surface of her mind, one from when she was young and trying to ride a bike and it levitated off the ground. She had fallen. Then she lost control over what she showed him and what she did not; that memory and the fear it held brought forth her first flying lesson. Suddenly, she found herself remembering Buckbeak and knew intrinsically that she had to force him out. Not knowing how to properly do so, she remembered how afraid she was that night. Sirius Black, Remus's transformation, and Peter Pettigrew all in one night was a lot to take, even for a girl who had nearly reached the Philosopher's stone when she was eleven and faced a basilisk when she was twelve. Hermione imagined herself shoving that fear and those strong feelings of betrayal at him as if they were solid.

As suddenly as he entered, he was gone from her mind. The world came rushing back to her in bright colours and her skin felt over-sensitive. The brush of her hair at the nape of her neck and the sticky, sweaty feeling of Harry's hand in hers – it was no longer comfortable. The sensory overload of such a stark contrast of existing in the comfort of her own mind to physical existence almost overwhelmed her. She let go of Harry's hand and swayed where she stood. Almost too late to catch the look on Snape's face, she glanced at him. He nearly looked surprised. His eyes were wide and both eyebrows were raised slightly.

It disappeared as soon as she saw it. His lips returned to a thin line and his eyes narrowed again. "Well, Miss Granger, you certainly show more aptitude than your friend," he growled at her. "Or perhaps Potter simply wasn't trying hard enough." The man's upper lip lifted in a sneer. "Get out of my sight, both of you." She nodded to him and turned to leave. Harry stood still and clenched his fists. Hermione grabbed one of them and pulled him along with her. Both knew full well that if he said anything, it would get both of them - "Detention for your cheek, Miss Granger. Potter, detention for making demands when a service is offered to you. You are just as arrogant as your father, and if you don't learn to humble yourself you will make mistakes. Six am, Saturday. My office. Do try to stay out of trouble until then, though with you, Potter, I doubt that."

"Yes sir," she acknowledged, pulling an irate Harry behind her out the door before he had the chance to make their situation any worse. As soon as they were beyond the stairs and the gargoyles that marked the entrance to the headmaster's office, she let go of Harry. Hopefully, Snape would be using the Floo to return to the dungeons and that would give the pair of students time to talk. In the past fifteen minutes so much had happened that she wouldn't know where to start. In retrospect, she probably should have started with an apology for going to Dumbledore, but Harry cut her off before she could even speak.

"I can't believe you went to a teacher!" he exclaimed, turning on her with much the same look she had seen him use on Snape. Although Hermione knew that Harry was always quick to forgive those that he loved, she still felt bad for betraying him to the headmaster. "You _knew_ I did not want to bother Dumbledore but you went to him anyway! I can't believe you, Hermione! I trusted you, and now we have to endure lessons with that – that – snake!"

"I -"

"No, Hermione. Do you know what he saw? Do you? He saw all that I failed to do. He saw my childhood. The Dursleys. He rifled through my thoughts and I could do nothing! And it's _your _fault." She was reminded of Ron's tantrums. His propensity of blaming everyone but himself for his problems had rather rubbed off on Harry over the years they had known each other. Although, Harry had rather had sort of the tendency to when she met him. Perhaps it was the other way around, and Ron just threw more temper tantrums than Harry. She didn't know. She couldn't spend too much thought on it now.

She felt her own temper flare up. "I did it for you! Your scar has been hurting you lately and I know you've been having nightmares! You can't deny that you don't feel him there, in your dreams. You've said it yourself on occasion!" After getting her frustration at him out, she sighed. He did have a right to be angry at her, after all. "You know I am sorry for telling them. You also know that I probably am right – you need this, otherwise Voldemort will turn your own mind against you. If Snape could do that to you...what do you think Voldemort would do?"

He stopped in his tracks, aghast at the reminder. Smugness rose in her, but she repressed the feeling. It would do no good for him to think that she gloating. "You're right," she knew she was, "I should do this. It seems so hard, though. I think I'm more angry at him for ripping through my mind without telling me what to do than with you for telling them in the first place." Having Snape go through one's thoughts and emotions certainly was not pleasant, but Hermione felt a little bit of a thrill at being able to thwart him. He could not have been trying very hard, though, if he was to teach them how to eject someone as powerful as Voldemort and she managed it without training.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "He was testing us, I think. I was able to direct him by bringing strong emotions and memories to my mind, and when he got past that and was travelling my memories, I forced him out with fear and anger. He almost found out about third year. I know he knows now, but somehow I don't think it would be a good idea to confirm it was us."

Harry nodded. He seemed surprised that she was able to force him out, but recovered almost as quickly as Snape. "Will you help me, like you said?"

"Yes." She smiled; even with the threat of Voldemort and the separate threat of the Ministry looming over them, it seemed like the year would be a very good one. They walked back to the Gryffindor tower in comfortable silence, ready to turn in for the night. Despite it being early, Hermione at least was tired from her efforts at blocking Snape from her mind, even though she had not succeeded at first. Tomorrow afternoon she swore she would use to research Occlumency in the library.

**-break-**

After the two students left the headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore removed the Disillusion Charm from his person. "Well, my boy, that turned out just as I expected it," he told Severus, grinning broadly. "Miss Granger will be a good influence on Harry."

Severus simply scowled even deeper. He had been staring at the door since the two children left. Yes, they were teenagers, but they acted like petulant toddlers in his educated opinion. He was taken aback by Miss Granger's natural aptitude for the art of Occlumency. It was a rudimentary skill at best, raw, unformed talent, but he had no doubt that with training, she would be formidable enough to resist himself, the most potent Veritaserum, and Lord Voldemort. In all honesty, he had not been putting all his power and skill into it when he invaded their minds.

Potter had not blocked him at all, but Miss Granger had. She had thought mundane thoughts at first. It had impeded him, but he had broken through that. That alone had surprised him. When she _showed_ him memories of himself at the front of his classroom, he had been astonished both at her mental control and of her emotions during that first class. After the next memory she directed him to, everything derailed.

She had used emotion to force him out of her mind. Although she could not block her mind effectively yet, the basics were there. "She is an insufferable chit," Severus spat. He hated the idea that the girl was actually naturally good at something. Up until now it seemed that she had been all book smarts and memorized paragraphs. Her methodology and meticulousness in papers had backed up his impression that she was covering for a lack of natural talent. All the impressions had been neatly blown out of the water though, with his foray into her mind.

He had not only seen her thoughts and memories, he had picked up on her determination to fit in, to learn, to know. Inadvertently, when she showed him that glimpse of powerful accidental magic (quite possibly her first instance, he mused, since she seemed all of three in the memory), she had also shown him her magical core, her very self. "If the Dark Lord ever finds out what I know of her now, she will be in more danger than Potter, Albus." The power and talent she held in her would have been enough for Voldemort to wish to sway her to her side. "One of Potter's recent memories is of her telling him about a very complex potion that will shield and heal the drinker at the same time. Albus, if the Dark Lord finds out..." Severus trailed off.

Albus' twinkle diminished. "I take it Harry did not do well? You will have to prepare him better, especially in lieu of this discovery," he said, "Do you think Miss Granger will be able to complete her potion?" The merry old man sounded more serious than usual, but Severus saw that he was trying to be light-hearted about the situation. Otherwise he would have been more grave when he realized Harry was no natural talent at Occlumency. Severus wondered why he did not tell him of Granger's power. In all instances, he knew he _should _tell Albus of it. It was better if only he knew of it, he assured himself. It was unfair of the meddling old man to force the children of Hogwarts to grow up faster than they deserved. It was necessary, but he did not what the headmaster using Granger as a weapon.

"I think so," he found himself saying. "The flashes of her notes Potter's memory provided me – she is very bright. The work she has done so far is beyond her years. Potter has no idea just how important she has become to the war. It was obvious the arrogant brat doesn't understand the implications of such a potion." It was tough for him to admit, but he doubted he would have been able to do anything like that when he was her age. He was in awe, almost, of her accomplishments. In part, that had been why he had turned his wand on her so severely. He did not dislike her as much as he acted like he did. He had to, in public, but in private she did impress him with her knowledge at least. Now, though, she was more than just a photographic memory in his mind – she was an asset, she was a creative spark, she had muse that he had lost ages ago.

"Gain her confidence, Severus. Get her to tell you about her potion. Help her devise it," the headmaster commanded, that maddening twinkle back in his blue eyes. Severus guessed that the old man was plotting more than he made evident. He always did. Meddling old fool. Still, Severus loved his mentor. Albus was the only man he could be himself around without fear of outing himself as disloyal to Voldemort. He knew he was still far from pleasant, but Dumbledore enjoyed his company just the same.

"Are you sure that is wise?"

"No, but Hermione Granger's potion may be our only hope."

With a growing sense of dread every day that the Dark Lord had been back, Severus could not help but agree with him. The problem now was how to gain the Granger girl's confidence. Certainly she hated him now, despite her feelings during that first lesson. He had degraded her and insulted her every chance he had, unless Potter was more at hand. Severus doubted it would be easy to gain her trust enough; he doubted that she would come to him for help with the potion otherwise.

After what he knew of her, Severus had every confidence that she could finish it alone. With help, though, it would not take her nearly as long. It would save lives. It could save their world from being overrun by darkness.

For even if Voldemort was lying low now, eventually he would show himself.


	5. Chapter Four: The Toad and The Plot

**Author's Note**: Whoops! In my updating, Chapter Four disappeared. I have to locate the original file, which is on a different computer, and it will be back up soon!


	6. Chapter Five: Torture, Detention, & Nice

**Author's Note:** _Fiance is being a dipwad, so I am ignoring him in favour of giving you guys another taste of Fortitude. Thanks to AlliKat7 for a quick response - in case you're interested, I'm doing p90x and have been living in perpetual soreness for the past two weeks! It made my evening. It's shorter than the last chapter, in that although I thought about going on to write Severus' thoughts post-Occlumency-lesson-session, I didn't because it's late and I want to go to sleep. The first scene here should be familiar, but it's not quite how it goes in the book or film.__ Well, R+R._

**Disclaimer:** _Still not mine. I wish. I'll just have to deal with my own cynical snuggle-bug with the dark hair. Too bad he's not a wizard and doesn't have a voice to die for (except when he's cross with me...I like to make him mad just to hear his angry voice!). Anyway. Sleep deprivation. Continue._

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: Torture, Detention and Nice<strong>

That Friday night, Hermione was reading more about potions, while Harry and Ron talked about various innocuous things that she really didn't care to hear about. The boys were growing up, but the subject matter of their conversations was distinctly lacking. When Harry was alone with Hermione, they could have a decent conversation. Same with Ron – she remembered fondly their summer at the Headquarters together.

A small pang in her chest made her regret not spending more time with her parents, but she had discussed with the Order moving them to a safe house, since they were Muggles and bound to be a target. Not even she knew where it was, though she did keep up a correspondence. Their dentistry practice had been closed for renovations, and to all appearances, it was being renovated.

Her parents money had been converted into wizarding coins, and invested strategically throughout the wizarding world in lucrative ventures, so their bank account was steadily growing despite their lack of business. The last she heard, they were doing quite well and enjoying their time away from work, although they worried about her deeply.

She sighed; she missed them horribly. Despite her interesting summer holiday with Ron, and access to the Black family library, she had been looking forward to more time with her parents. Hopefully she would convince someone to let her see them over the Christmas holiday. Harry and Ron's animated conversation stopped at her sigh. Brows knitting together, Harry asked, "You okay, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Just thinking about my mum and dad, that's all," she replied. "Nothing for you to worry about." She put her hand upon his to squeeze it reassuringly, and was a bit taken aback by the way he flinched and pulled away.

"Harry," she questioned, "What's wrong with your hand?"

He shook his head. "Its nothing." He tugged his shirtsleeve down, but she grabbed his arm and yanked it back up. It was amazing that he had been able to cover it before – the skin had been etched into with _I must not tell lies_.

"Harry, what is this? You _have _to tell someone!" she exclaimed, barely hearing Ron's indignant agreement. It was clear who had done that to him – he had had his first detention with Umbridge earlier that day, right before dinner. Hermione was fuming; she could not believe that the toad was torturing him!

Harry gave her a look. "Hermione, have you forgot what the plan is? To act like she is getting to us! You said it yourself! I can't go to anyone about this – I'll look like a rat, and then where would we be?" he explained to her. "Clearly, I am not going to die from this. I hate it, but we have to win over Umbridge. You're right, we cannot have her thinking that she needs to interfere even more!"

She was flabbergasted at the maturity Harry was showing, although she wondered how much of it was just stubbornness to admit there was a problem. She pursed her lips. Hand reaching into her tote, she rummaged around for a moment. "C'mon, where is it?" she muttered. In concentration, she stuck her tongue out just a little, and crinkled her brow together. "C'mon..._Aha!_"

A small bottle rested in her hand when she closed her tote, and she grinned. "Here we are, Essence of Murtlap. It has healing properties as well as analgesic properties," she informed Harry whilst she uncorked the bottle. Grabbing his hand again, she tipped the bottle, letting three drips of liquid splash onto the wound. Immediately the redness went down.

"Thanks, Hermione. Where'd you get that?"

"Uh..."

"Oh, she brewed at entire first aid kit this summer at headquarters," Ron interjected. "Showed me a few tips, too. I think I've gotten a little better at understanding potions now." The red-head did not notice how Harry's face shut down and his eyes grew cold. He was still angry that he had been kept out of the loop, but thankfully, did not blow up this time.

Before he had the chance to, Hermione intervened. "I've got one for you, too, Harry. Merlin knows you're always getting into worse scrapes than either of us," she joked, hoping to lighten the mood. Harry did chuckle slightly, but that was it. "I'll get it to you tomorrow. It is getting late, so I'm headed to bed. I recommend you two turn in soon. Remember, Harry, detention tomorrow morning with Professor Snape."

"Damnit, that's right," Harry growled. "Six in the morning, too. What a wanker."

She shot him a glare before spinning on her heel. As she walked to the staircase to the girl's dorms, she heard Ron's voice trail after her. "What d'ya reckon has got into her?" Hermione sighed; it would be futile to storm back over to them and express her anger. Yes, it was a righteous cause. No, it would not do any good. It had been hard, but she had finally come to terms that they would disrespect Professor Snape no matter what she said.

They would have to learn on their own; it was something she could not hammer into their thick skulls. That, and she _was_ tired – defending the Potions Master would take time, and it would start an argument that she would rather not get into that evening.

When she finally sank onto her bed that night, cuddling up with Crookshanks under the covers, she realized that she was excited for the morrow. Hermione would bet all the money she had on her right then – which was, in all actuality, none, as most of it was in her trunk – that they would be learning more Occlumency.

*****break*****

"Potter! Control your emotions! Again!"

They had been at it for an hour. Sweat poured down both of their faces, but from what Hermione could tell, Harry was not making any progress. He was just getting more and more incensed at the insults Professor Snape had been throwing his way. Obviously, this particular round yielded even less results than any before.

She had never seen her professor look quite so stormy and intimidating. This was something more important than potions class, she understood. If Harry did not learn to protect his mind, the implications were terrifying. There was so much information that could be plundered from a weak mind, and Harry knew too many secrets to let his mind remain open. Could he not see that their very lives depended on it? That the Order's _spy,_ the very same man before them, could be ousted if Voldemort found a way into Harry's mind?

Somehow, she doubted it. She had kept silent and pensive the entire detention so far, doing what Harry had complained was the easy half of it – a detailed account of all that she knew about Occlumency, and what Harry was doing wrong. It had taken her half an hour to cover all her bases.

"You're just like your father. Lazy, arrogant..." Hermione's ears perked up at that drawled insult. This was not going to be pretty.

"Don't say a word against my father!"

"-Weak."

Hermione thought the professor was going a little overboard with his insults. It was a sensitive subject. She knew she would have to make Harry practise Occlumency with her. With the Potions Master firing Harry up so much, he would never learn how to control his emotions.

"I am not weak!" Harry shouted defiantly.

"Then prove it. _Legilimens._"

After a moment or two, the professor ended the spell. "You're hopeless, Potter," he snarled. "Go sit. I expect you to write twenty inches of _why_ exactly you failed, and _how_ exactly you intend to rectify your difficulties." Hermione knew that it was her turn now, and even as Harry was still walking to take his seat – more like dragging his feet – she started to clear her mind. "Miss Granger, if you would join me?" he offered.

It had to be just her, but he looked slightly less frustrated at the prospect of teaching her. No – she had to wipe the thoughts from her mind. She concentrated on something different than last time. It had been easy for him to break through what she had before. As she positioned herself facing him, she stared into his eyes almost defiantly.

"_Legilimens._"

This time, when he entered her mind, there was a deluge of mundane thoughts flying around. Hermione had imagined the winds that ripped around the eye of a hurricane, and they carried her thoughts in a tempest.

The smell of -

His dark eyes looking down -

Bangers would be -

Harry needed to -

Quidditch was coming up and Ron -

Needed more Essence -

Homework was done, but she had to -

That last thought interested him and she felt it, and pulled her mind away from him by suddenly blanking everything out. All she focused on now was breathing. Yoga classes the summer after third year had not been for nothing; she had learned how to meditate. She ignored the headache that was building, ignored the fact that all her efforts had her sweating, trembling.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He pushed harder. She faltered after a moment more, but hid the thought he was after. Instead, she showed him an image of her brewing simple potions at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had to keep her secret potion from him; she did not want him laughing at her. A flash to the desire for his approval, as she had all the other teachers' favour but his. The many potions texts she had purchased sitting on the counter top at Flourish & Blotts came to mind next, and then she took a risk.

She showed him her Polyjuice attempt in second year.

Hermione let out a deep breath as he let her go. She nearly collapsed under the weight of the stress she had put her mind through. Hermione had gotten the idea that if he had really wanted to, he would have broken through. But how did he know to look for the potion? She hesitated before asking. If he did not know, then it would not do to enlighten him. If he knew...could he have gleaned it from Harry's mind?

"Well, Miss Granger," he growled, "that was an...admirable effort, however weak you were at the end. You do realize I could have you expelled for that little stunt you pulled in second year, do you not? Brewing Polyjuice illegally, and in a girl's toilet? Do you have any idea the damage you could have caused?"

Even though his voice was dangerous, Hermione mustered a small smile. "I turned into a cat," she informed him more for the shock factor, "but we thought the risks were worth the benefits, sir. I would also like to inform you that I showed you that though on purpose."

The shock that read momentarily in his eyes at her forwardness faded fast in the face of steel. "Miss Granger, the purpose is to _keep_ secrets, not to unceremoniously dump them in an enemy's head like a broom does to _you_," he sneered.

"I took a calculated risk," she said. "I kept the more dangerous secret to myself. Since I am not good enough at Occlumency to entirely block you out and I am sure that if I had managed, you are much more proficient a Legilimens than you let on and would have upped the ante, I diverted you. If I were to go up against Voldemort now, would it not be better to steer his mind away from the more vital information, sir?" She realized she was showing him a little cheek, but hopefully it would not get her in any more trouble.

Yeah, right.

"_Legilimens._"

She had but a millisecond's notice before her vision was filled with a pair of his dark eyes. Her mind was tired, but she resolved not to let him find out about her secret. That's what she referred to it as – her secret. She concentrated instead on listing all of his physical attributes that she could see.

His eyes were dark, a grey that was almost but not quite black. She could tell because she could see the pupil, dilated.

Thick eyebrows. Deep set eyes. A nice shape to both, though. One raised at that thought.

Large nose but not as hooked as they had previously thought. Crooked, though, broken more than once.

Thin lips twisted in a sneer. Looked better when he was smirking.

Powerful chin, angled jawline. Dank hair that would look nice if it was clean.

She repeated the process, this time with smells. He smelled of sandalwood and various herbs. It was surprisingly ni-

He had had enough. He broke the contact again, and snarled at her. "You will refrain from calling me _nice_ inside your thoughts, Miss Granger. I assure you, I am not _nice. _You have done better than Potter, but that is not remarkable considering how abysmally poor his performance was. You _both_ are dismissed."

Hermione wondered what he was more angry over – the fact that she kept her secret by switching tactics yet again, or the fact that she had called him nice. As Harry gathered his things as quickly as he could, she stood with her chin upturned. Stubbornness was a family trait, and she had definitely inherited the perfect chin for such a quality.

"How shall we arrange our next lessons to keep up appearances, professor?" she inquired, her voice level but polite.

Professor Snape smirked, "As Potter's performance in potions is not much better than his inability to grasp Occlumency, I shall entertain the idea of remedial lessons for him. As for you, Miss Granger, your grades are unfortunately too impeccable even though you are incapable of thinking for yourself, so you will be challenged with more advanced private lessons. Do not think for one second that I would offer such a boon of my own accord. It is only because the Headmaster requested it that it is done. I do not condone offering students who vomit the textbook back onto paper _advanced_ studies."

Hermione pretended to be mollified. She caught Harry's eye and shook her head slightly. If he went off the handle now, while the professor was already angry, he would probably end up in detention on top of Occlumency lessons and his time spent tortured by Umbridge. "Thank you, sir," she responded appropriately.

"Dismissed."

The pair of students left as quickly as they could, Harry in the lead. As soon as the door closed behind them, Hermione leaned shakily up against the cool stone of the dungeon. Harry paused beside her. "Are you okay, Hermione?" he queried. His hand came up to rest upon her shoulder.

"Just...tired," she offered as an excuse. "Couldn't let him find out about my project." Hermione did not want to bring it to Professor Snape's attention unless it was nearly perfect, and it was far from that yet. She wanted to be useful to the war, but she had to admit that she chose a potion so that she could finally get approval from her second worst critic.

"Uh, about that, Hermione," Harry started. He paused for just a little too long, and Hermione glared at him. "He kinda, well, found it in my mind. That's what he was looking for, at the end, there. Bastard played me until he knew I would be at my weakest! Doubt I could've kept it from him at the very beginning. I don't know how you do it, Hermione. I'm sorry, though, that he found out. I just..."

Hermione interjected before he could pick up after that. "Harry, you're rambling. Don't worry about it; you don't know enough about it. My methods, my research, that's what I need to keep from him. You don't know that, remember?" she reassured him. He was already angry at the things that the professor had said, although his time observing had cooled him down drastically.

"I just feel guilty that you worked so hard to keep him out and I just let him see it!" he exclaimed.

She gave him a quick hug. "Harry, honestly, it's okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Now come on, we are late for breakfast and you know Ron will worry if we aren't there. He'll come charging down here thinking that Professor Snape has us strung up by the toes or some other equally daft, cocked up theory," she joked. She did procure a laugh out of Harry for that one, and she herself grinned. It was true, after all. Ron was just as bad as Harry in the department of bizarre and stupid theories when nothing really was wrong.

When the arrived at breakfast, Hermione was in for a surprise. She sat down in her seat across from Ron as usual, and before she was even able to get a single banger on her plate, an unfamiliar snowy owl swooped down and dropped a note down. She grabbed it before Ron or Harry did, and when she unfolded it, a frown marred her features.

It read, in spiky, bottle green scrawl,

"_Miss Granger,_

_You will be serving another detention this evening for meddling in affairs not your own. My office, immediately following dinner. _

_Professor S. Snape._"

Today was going to be a very long day, after all. She shouldn't have showed him the Polyjuice.


	7. Chapter Six:Thoughts, Fights, & Journals

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing you would recognize. _

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: Thoughts, Fights, and Journals<strong>

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><p>After breakfast, Severus had many things to ponder. That insufferable know-it-all was able to keep him out of her mind, or at least to the extent that her thoughts would not reveal what he most wanted to know. Oh, he knew from the Potter brat exactly what she was trying to accomplish, but he wanted to see how. Her methods were crude, at best, but if refined she might prove to be an even better Occlumens than himself.<p>

There was also the matter of Polyjuice. She successfully brewed it in her second year? The chit had only been twelve (she had actually been thirteen, her birthday falling nicely in September, after start of term, but he was unaware of that). If she was capable of such an advanced potion at that age, it was no wonder her essays were always so cut and dry. He had never challenged her. Despite the given that he should not challenge her, as word would definitely get back to the Dark Lord, he lamented that she was bored with the current curriculum.

Here was a student that he could cultivate into an innovative future Potions Mistress, the only one with the potential in all his fifteen years teaching at Hogwarts, and he dare not. Severus did not know whether to be more frustrated that he could not because of his position as a Death Eater and Order spy, or if it was because the one student that had potential in his chosen field was the Gryffindor chit and best friend of Harry _bloody_Potter. Granger was impressive and meticulous in her brewing technique, and the thoughts he had read in her mind and Potter's mind these past two Occlumency sessions proved that she could be imaginative.

How should he nurture her mind? Yes, she was an annoying little brat, but if she could excel in potions and if she could perfect the potion she was working on, she would be an asset to him. Her ideas were impressive, just from what he gleaned from Potter's memories. Severus wondered if he should change the lesson plans and challenge the students to be innovative. No, that would result in disaster. He shuddered to think of what accident Longbottom would conjure up if he suggested they try to improve original recipes.

The Granger girl, she was different. Already, she was inventing a complex potion, one that she would need help on. Still, the fact she thought of it at all was astounding to Severus. The Headmaster was right; he needed to earn her trust.

Could he? Could he be someone he was not to gain the Gryffindor chit's trust? He could tell that he had her respect and admiration, but he doubted she trusted him enough to share her research. If she had, she would have already come to him. He wished he could plunder her mind, but her raw talent for practically everything was too strong. Severus sighed; it would not do to _force_the girl to cooperate. Honey would draw her in more than vitriol, although perhaps simple interest in her work and private praise would do the trick.

If he stopped insulting her suddenly, she would suspect. Shrewdness was one of her qualities and she, like Potter, was quick to raise her suspicions, but she was always uncannily correct.

He had their detention that evening to look forward to. Severus did not know yet if he was going to have her try more Occlumency or play out a regular detention. Simply bitter about the Polyjuice potion, he had wanted her to suffer and worry all day about what she was facing. Her crestfallen face when she opened his owl had been priceless. Perhaps, though, she could assist in brewing. Poppy did require him to restock her supplies completely before next weeks' Quidditch tryouts.

The more he mulled it over, the more he found himself liking the idea. She would be challenged, because Poppy's number one priority was Dreamless Sleep, and that was not a simple potion to brew. A smirk grew on his face and his thin lips threatened to twitch into a smile. It had been a long time indeed that he had worked with a competent brewer privately for something relatively innocuous.

No, he could not think that he would enjoy the prospect of brewing with the Gryffindor chit. If the Dark Lord ever took him by surprise his cover could be blown. Dumbledore had told him implicitly that Miss Granger was to receive extra instruction, but he had to dislike it. It was for both of their sakes. Such a talent could not be wasted, though, and he doubted that she would yearn to study under him long if he did not act a modicum more kind.

Severus struggled with himself. He did not want to have more secrets to keep from the Dark Lord, but if Hermione Granger had any hope of completing that potion he had seen in Potter's mind, he had to help her. She was intelligent, but there was no way a fifteen-year old could come up with a potion that complicated on her own.

He sighed. Poppy needed other potions than just Dreamless Sleep; Severus knew she also expected him to keep up her general healing potions. Though he loathed brewing simple potions such as the Essences of Dittany or Murtlap, he knew it needed to be done. Leaving his thoughts about Miss Granger behind, he moved from his office chair to his private storeroom, where he could gather up the murtlap tentacles and the dittany.

Back to the tedium of not being able to research, he thought to himself.

*****break*****

Curled up on the couch with Harry and Ron, she was enjoying a normal afternoon where Voldemort had not been mentioned once. She had told them she would look over their essays for Transfiguration, and that was what she was doing. Harry's was surprisingly decent, even by her standards, that she pointed out very few flaws. Ron's was similar in content quality, but it was riddled with wrong spellings and - "Ron, must you really drip pumpkin juice all over your parchment?" she scowled, glaring at him. Really, one thought that he would take more care of his homework!

"Hermione!" he protested, then added, mumbling, "Least I did it before Sunday night."

She shot him another look. The boys still had no sense of responsibility, even after four entire school years! "Well, I've marked your mistakes in red ink like so," she pointed, "and written in additional information in violet." With a nod of her head, she handed the boys their scrolls back, and nestled back into the couch. She toyed with the idea of cuddling under Ron's arm, but knew she was by far not brave enough.

Some Gryffindor.

"Anyway, I've stretched out my fingers to the other students I think would be interested in our little defense lessons, and we have a good sized group! Harry, have you spoken to Dobby yet?" Hermione changed the subject from homework if only to keep her mind off Ron and how broad his shoulders had become. He certainly would be cozy – but she knew he did not like her that way. After all, he had just noticed that she was _female_last winter, and knowing Ron, she knew he had to have promptly forgotten.

"Er, about that," Harry said, looking away from her and twiddling his thumbs. Either the pointed look or the light shove she game him must have encouraged him to continue, because he met her eyes. She recognized that stubborn tilt of his chin and the defiant gleam in his eye. "I haven't, but honest! I was going to tonight! I thought all of us could maybe sneak to the kitchen for a nip of tea after your detention with Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry," she gently admonished. "That sounds like it could be interesting, although I don't think the house elves like me much, save Dobby. At least _he_appreciated my knit hats and scarves." Her efforts to promote elfish welfare the year before had not gone as planned; in fact, because the elves did not cooperate very well. In fact, the last time she was in the kitchens and Dobby was not around, not one elf even spoke to her.

Ron chuckled and shook his head. She smacked him. "Oi!" he exclaimed. "That's not right! You know I told you they want to serve wizards, that Dobby's the oddball!" He had, indeed, but that did not mean that house elves should be treated like dirt when in service. They should be able to choose who they serve; choose kind wizards and witches, not people like Fudge or the Malfoys.

"We'll visit and maybe they've changed over the summer," Harry suggested, although the look on his face told that it was with false hope. "Oh, have you told Ron about that potion you've been trying to work on? How's that coming?"

"Wait, what potion?" Ron demanded at the same time Hermione shushed Harry and hastily cast a Silencing Sphere.

"Harry! It _has_to be a secret!" she cried, "If Voldemort finds out, then we're doomed! I'd be the number one mark, not you!"

"Well, that's comforting," Harry muttered.

"Oi, I'm not a spy for He-Who-Voldemort," Ron shouted.

"Oh, do be quiet, the two of you. Yes, it has to be secret. If I am a mark, Voldemort would be quite happy with letting any Death Eater kill me. He probably wants to kill you himself, Harry, but well, he has to get to you first, and that's going to be rather hard now that Dumbledore knows that he is back," she explained. "And Ron, I _know_. I was talking about every other person here. Gossip travels."

"Oh."

"Anyway, Ronald, I'm trying to formulate a potion to protect and heal at the same time. One that, when drunk before battle, will render someone nearly impervious to both magical and physical damage. My Arithmancy and research has led me to a formula that I believe will protect but not heal anything other than pre-existing damage. The protection that it provides is not very strong, either. It might protect against a jelly-legs jinx, but definitely not against your sister's Bat Bogey hex," she informed Ron.

"Wow," he said, "You've gotten that far? You're brilliant, Hermione."

Taking that cue as encouragement, she launched into an in-depth explanation of her research. Three minutes later she realized her audience was observing her with glazed eyes and Ron might even have a little drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. They were utterly hopeless. She sighed and suggested they head to dinner so she had ample time to eat before she had to spend detention with Professor Snape.

"I'm famished," Ron stated. Of course he was – Hermione did not know a time when that boy could not eat. "Good idea!" While she gathered her things up, both boys hopped up from where they were sitting. She was disappointed that she had no one to explain her theory or equations to. She did not know if Professor Vector was trustworthy or even in the Order, and Professor Snape was out. There was no way she would go to him with her private project even though he was to be trusted.

He was just an insensitive jerk.

As they walked to the Great Hall, Hermione pondered her project. Really, there was not anyone she could truly confide in. Harry and Ron were great friends, but when it came to matters of academia and research, they were really useless. Harry was great when it came to the practical application of knowledge, and Ron was a decent strategist but neither boy had intuition.

She mused that it could be that very reason that Professor Snape seemed to hate her so much in class. His scathing remarks on her essays certainly included that she was pedantic and vomited encyclopedic text. Hermione had been terrified that if she became innovative with her work he would hate her even more for thinking for herself. A small smile flitted across her lips as she thought what his reaction to her private potions journal would be. It had developed greatly since her second year.

Hermione still privately brewed in Myrtle's bathroom. The ghost had become a tentative friend, if only because Hermione could tolerate her tantrums and was reliable company. It was a decent arrangement – Hermione would brew, Myrtle would pretend to be in a horrible mood to keep everyone out. Every potion she brewed privately and every potion she enhanced went into her potions journal. It was quite extensive and consisted of four different thin tomes at the end of her previous year.

Grimmauld Place had been great for her private research, especially the library and the cellar which already had a small brewing station set up ostensibly so Professor Snape would feel more comfortable. He had, to her knowledge, never used it. Half an additional, thicker tome had joined her previous research as well as another slender tome half filled with her notes on her protection-healing potion. Oh yes, Professor Snape would definitely be flabbergasted that she actually was a rather innovative potions student.

They had arrived, and she noted that dinner would not be a quiet affair. Everyone was abuzz about the upcoming Quidditch Tryouts. Hermione, therefore, would be left to her thoughts as long as Ron did not decide to require her encouragement and admiration over his skills on a broomstick. Other students whispered about Umbridge's magic-less classes; in her observation Hermione even heard some students speculate that she was a Squib or simply that she was related to Snape.

"_There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class,_" she remembered – but would he not be irate to know that students were comparing him to that toad? She glanced up at the Head Table, where Professor Snape was glowering as usual, and saw with a little bit of apprehension that neither Professor McGonagall or the aforementioned toad were present.

"Where do you reckon Umbridge and McGonagall are?" Seamus asked from nearby, having just arrived himself.

"Dunno," one of the other Gryffindors replied. If Hermione believed in anything divination related, she would have said that she had a very bad feeling indeed.

The conversation turned to speculation as everyone ate. Hermione chased the food on her plate around with her fork, both nervous about her detention that evening and anxious over the two missing professors. What could it mean? She nibbled on a roll, her fork still absentmindedly following a pea around on her plate.

Just then, a commotion rose from the Entrance Hall. Students flocked to the open doors of the Great Hall, and a hush fell on those still sitting. From where she sat, Hermione could clearly hear the unmistakable accent of Professor McGonagall and the shrill, girly voice of the toad.

"Pardon me, Minerva, but what exactly are you insinuating?" Umbridge accused. Hermione could picture her indignant glare, the open-mouthed shock of being contradicted. She sounded almost as angry at the transfiguration professor as she had earlier that week with Harry.

Hermione smiled when she heard McGonagall retort. She sounded like the unflappable disciplinarian that Hermione knew and admired. "I am merely requesting that when it comes to my students you conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices." How had McGonagall discovered the detention technique that Umbridge had used? Hermione noticed that Harry was giving her a questioning glance. She shrugged; she was just as clueless as him.

"So silly of me," the toad questioned, "but it sounds as if you're questioning my authority in my own classroom, Minerva." The two professors were carrying on in public, and Hermione wondered if it was purposeful on Umbridge's part to have brought the argument out where it would make a scene.

"Not at all, Dolores, merely your medieval methods." Harry snorted at that; her discipline was a brand of torture. The scar on his hand was still puckered and pink, despite the Dittany she had given him.

The toad was on the defensive now, and Hermione was surprised to hear her voice so low and dangerous. Normally the witch sounded innocuous, although everyone was certain by now that she was dangerous despite overtly pink appearances. "I am sorry, dear, but to question my practices is to question the Ministry, and by extension, the Minister himself. I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty."

"Disloyalty?"

Hermione's concerns were then answered. There was a reason that Umbridge was making this a public spectacle. It was to assert authority over the other professors even if none had been given. She was aware that things would get even more tense in the days to come, and it had only been the first week. The first week!

"Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared," Umbridge sniffed. She turned on her heel and stalked back up the stairs. Yes, she was certainly trying to assert her authority. Evil hag, Hermione thought to herself.

The distraction of that argument – discussion – between the two professors had killed what little appetite she had, so she surveyed the rest of the student population. Whispers of speculation had turned to whispers of incredulity. No one had ever spoken to Professor McGonagall that way before and gotten away with it, some said. The Slytherins looked smug. The Gryffindors were worried. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were stunned.

Hermione herself knew that the next weekend, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, something would have to be done. The students would have to take Hogwarts into their own hands, and the Gryffindor trio would head it up.

*****break*****

Apprehension controlled her as she knocked on the Potions classroom door at the prescribed time. Her motions were hesitant, reluctant. Certainly the man would make her life hell just because he could. He did not answer immediately, and she felt her anticipation build along with the knot in her throat.

When the door swung open, her jaw dropped. Professor Snape was in trousers and shirtsleeves. Gone were the billowing black robes of earlier that day. His trousers were black. They normally were, from what was visible through his robes. It was the shirt that shocked her completely. It was white. The sleeves were short.

His forearms were well muscled and not at all bony like they had assumed, though why she had ever thought he was a skinny sack of bones before she hadn't a clue. He had broad shoulders – perhaps not as broad as Ron's were, but definitely broad. The white of the shirt made his skin look less yellow and more of a healthy, but fair, tone.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, "It is not polite to stare. Do come in and cease gaping like a fish." His cold tone took away the shock. Despite his different appearance, he was still her Potions Professor and a heartless bastard. She gathered her composure and strode purposefully into the classroom, aware that he shut the door behind her and that she was completely alone with him.

The thought terrified her more than she care admit.

She turned to face him, trying her best to keep her face neutral and not _gape like a fish_. "Well, well, Miss Granger. Your second detention of the term, and it hasn't even been a week," he growled with a sneer. "_And_you, a prefect!" Hermione felt her cheeks heat; certainly, the man was a git.

He paused and stared down his nose at her. She did her best to look properly chided. "I apologize for my cheek, sir," she murmured, not daring to speak louder for she worried her voice might break. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Professor Snape did not speak the spell aloud, rather she heard in her head the incantation. Wordless magic – her first exposure other than a child's wild magic. She was momentarily awed, but did her best to keep him out of her thoughts.

_You tricky bastard_, her thoughts screamed at him and she could have sworn she heard him laugh. The train of memories started.

D'ya think Umbridge is related to Snape? That was a hapless Hufflepuff sixth year, Hermione did not know him.

Her astonishment at his attire.

Umbridge asserting her authority.

Her inner smile as she completely blocked him off; replaced by an image of a Cheshire cat. She kept that image. The fur remained unruffled, the smile stayed and he could not break through. She would need how to make her blocks less obvious but for now, it sufficed.

Cheshire cat.

Cheshire cat.

She felt him push forward and the Cheshire cat batted at him. Hermione gasped and wrenched her eyes away at the unfettered rage he felt towards her block.

"Adequate," he growled, "but very rudimentary and unrefined."

Hermione suspected that 'adequate' was the best compliment she would ever hear from someone as hard to please as Professor Snape, so she gave him a small smile. "Thank you, sir," she said, and was unsurprised to see a scowl on his face.

"You will need to learn to make your blocks less obvious, to conjure false memories without the haze of tampering on them, essentially, to make your mind appear completely open without it actually being open," he sneered. "Do you think the Dark Lord would be stopped by a grinning feline? No, he would slay the damn thing and destroy your mind for impertinence. All while laughing."

Chastened, her smile disappeared. Apparently, 'adequate' was not as much of a compliment as she had thought. "Yes, sir," she agreed. He was right, after all. Although she doubted that she would face Voldemort that day, if she did, her defense was pretty lousy. She would not make it out with any of her secrets intact, least of all the one that he was teaching Harry Occlumency.

After a pregnant pause, she summoned her Gryffindor courage and ventured, "Sir, is my detention for more Occlumency or do you have another task for me?"

"We will be brewing," he simply said.

"Oh."

She dare not meet his eyes again, so she swept her eyes over the room. Alright, so if she was to brew, she would require a cauldron. He had not provided one. Wait, had he said 'we'? He had. She knew he had. Shirtsleeves and trousers suddenly made sense. She usually brewed with her robes off if she thought she could get away with it.

"Which potion, sir?" she inquired out of curiosity. The room was bare of everything except desks; there was nothing to clue her in. Hermione was getting tired of his silence; except for his speech about her Occlumency being too blatantly obvious and therefore pathetic, he had barely spoken. His face was inscrutable. Hermione hated him for belittling her despite the fact that she had made progress in a difficult magic.

"One you probably have not brewed before," he spat. "Regrettably, the Headmaster ordered me to cater to your specific advanced brewing level. I don't believe you are quite at the level he thinks, given that your essays are incredibly lacking original thought, textbook answers. While those might be acceptable in History of Magic..." he trailed off and simply glowered at her.

She wanted to snicker. It was the same snide comment he'd been using as an insult for the past several years. If he couldn't get any more creative than that, he deserved to be told the same thing. Still, he was in an utterly foul mood and she was not about to try his nerves by being flippant. "Alright, sir," she replied. Hermione was excited to brew something a little more difficult – and with him! She would be brewing with the master; she could not wait to learn a few of his techniques!

"Come, this way," he directed, striding towards the door to his office. "We will be brewing in a more private classroom that is more aptly set up to avoid cross-contamination from previous brewing sessions." He tossed her a wicked look. "The general classroom is not so; explosions are more frequent in such a dismal setting."

"But sir?"

"None but the most inept students could cause any of the potions we brew in the average curriculum; this lab is set up to teach the NEWT students should they be...talented...enough to move on past normal level potions," he explained. "I have not used it for students in over ten years."

Great, she thought to herself, a room no one knows to exist, alone with the brooding and dark Severus Snape. Ron and Harry would have kittens if they knew that he was taking her to some unknown room in the castle, a private room. Still, she was excited over the prospect of brewing a more complicated potion.

They arrived at his office and he opened the door she had previously assumed led to private quarters. It opened into a small brewing space outfitted for four or five people, although only one station was set up. She eyed the ingredients he had set out. "Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I have brewed Dreamless Sleep before," she said.

*****break*****

"_Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I have brewed Dreamless Sleep before._He almost let his jaw drop as she adopted a meek expression and nervously nibbled on her lower lip, but contained himself. "Pray tell, when did you brew this and how?" he growled at her. His eyes narrowed and he detected a small flinch in her own eyes when she saw his expression.

"Uh...this summer, at Grimmauld Place. They set up a laboratory in the cellar and I had a small workbench in my own room for simpler recipes," she muttered quickly, "Remus picked up the ingredients I needed."

"Indeed," he drawled. "As you are so familiar with this particular brew, you will modify it. Enhance it with what is already in this room."

She nodded and lit the fire under the cauldron. Severus watched as the Granger girl divested of her outer robes, leaving her in a loose cotton blouse and her school skirt. If he had not been casually dressed, he would have reprimanded her. As it was, he let her slide though he did consider giving her a hard time just for the fun of it.

The girl had surprised him earlier with her surprisingly swift and powerful Occlumency shield. That damn cat had just smiled at him and batted him away. Surely, he could have pushed past it but he knew that doing so would have injured her mind, caused a nosebleed, and destroyed her innate talent in mind magic. It also would have ruined any chance of convincing her to trust him – not that his attitude towards her was helping that case at all.

As she prepared her ingredients and followed the instruction page that he had set out regarding the potion, he stepped closer to her. He scowled. She was not enhancing it at all! The ingredients were prepared exactly as the recipe specified. She worked quietly, and although she was not doing anything other than what written word told her to do, she was quite graceful in her movements.

It was not a time-consuming potion, but it was a potion that required precise timing. Even though she did everything correctly, he could not help but feel disappointment. She was not innovative and did not have the ability to think outside the box – how would she ever complete that potion he had seen in Potter's mind? He wondered if it was his presence that stifled her.

Thirty minutes later, she had added in all the ingredients that he had laid out and did nothing differently from what he had written down. Everything had been done to the letter, and the potion was in a ten minute simmer phase before it would be done. He backed away from her. This was a terrible let down. He had always grated and then ground the valerian root instead of mincing it. It released the properties better and toned down the addictive qualities.

She bent down to rummage through her bag. Her arm disappeared deeper into it; so the chit had learned Undetectable Extending Charms. Severus had heard her charmwork was good, but he had not realized just how advanced in her subject matter she was. It was no wonder she always looked bored with the rest of her little group; she had to far surpass them in any subject.

Such intelligence was lonely. He knew that well. He was ostracized for his own study tendencies from the very beginning, his poverty, and his general lack of charm. He suspected it would have been similar for her but for Potter and Weasley, and even their company was suspect.

The thunk of glass on wood caught his attention, and he focused on her again just in time to see her pour a carefully measured amount of red powder into the cauldron. It hissed, sputtered, spat, and then settled. His face had settled into a look of alarm, and his body had tensed. If it exploded he was ready to throw them both to the floor and sacrifice his life for her dumb mistake.

Nothing happened except for he was confronted with a very smug, smiling Granger chit.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded, "I told you to use what you were provided with!" He was livid with rage that she had endangered them both. Even though nothing happened, he had never managed to add something safely to the Dreamless Sleep potion – the cauldron always melted.

"I've done this before, after carefully examining the properties of each ingredient and using arithmantic equations to ascertain the most likely outcome," she retorted, and then added, "The instruction was clearly what was in this room, and my bag and its contents are in the room, sir."

He glowered at her and considered roaring at her for her cheek. Instead, he hissed, "10 points for your cheek, Miss Granger." Severus could not believe that she was acting saucy and brave towards him. So smug – it was like she was waiting to show him up with her knowledge! "What _did_you do to it?"

"Powdered baku claws have a stabilizing effect on what is otherwise an addictive potion and they allow the subconscious to differentiate between wanted and unwanted dreams. When doing other research, I read that Muggles believe the baku eats bad dreams if someone is lucky enough to tame it. Although baku claws are traditionally used in more advanced versions of a Calming Draught, I was curious to see if they would have an effect on a potion dealing directly with dreams. It was for Harry, you see," she finished bashfully. The girl was smart enough to realize that going into Potter's personal life was a terrible idea.

He was gobsmacked. Flabbergasted – how had he never _thought_ of that? No matter, it was obvious that eventually she might save them all with her potion. "What other Potions have you fiddled with?" he asked in a softer, more interested tone. She was only _fifteen_and already was changing potions with her own, innovative ideas more than he ever did before he obtained his Mastery. Severus steeled himself. There was no way he would let her slip through the cracks and be a no one.

He had to gain her trust. Severus had to help her finish that potion she was working on. He had to.

*****break*****

Her breath caught. She was certain he was going to kill her for disobeying, for applying cheek when she should not, but she was just so proud at showing him up. Hermione just could not help it. Her Gryffindor brashness took that opportunity to show, and even when his face grew stormy and his eyes glinted with glacial temperatures she could not help her saucy smile.

Professor Snape asked her to share her other enhanced potions. She squeaked. "Um."

"Well?" he barked. That cinched it.

"I can bring you my journals tomorrow, if you'd like, sir," Hermione said, still proud that he – the dungeon bat – was actually, finally, taking an interest in her work.

*****break*****

Journals? His mind reeled. This fifteen year old girl, this little Gryffindor chit, the walking encyclopedia had potions _journals_. The girl whose essays reeked of textbook vomit, the girl whose pedantic unimaginative classwork left him doubting her intelligence for four previous years, had been experimenting in secret.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he drawled with an affected sneer. He did not want it going too far into her head. "You may drop them off after breakfast in my office. That will be all for today."

She nodded and went for the door without another word. That infernal smile was still on her face, and it irritated him enough to add one more thing.

"Have you ever formulated your _own_potion?"

The girl froze.

"No. I have not. Goodnight, Professor Snape."

Without turning back to look at him, she left. He knew why. This was going to be more fun than he thought it would be, getting the potion out of her without telling her he knew. The Gryffindor princess lied to him.

Gryffindors had no subtlety; the Headmaster would surely have Severus come clean within a heartbeat. That would give her no cause to trust him with her brainchild. He knew that personally. Unless she trusted him implicitly with any of her work, she was not going to share something that important with him. Unless she told him about it herself, she would not accept his help. No, this had to be done carefully.

Now that he knew just how innovative with potions she was, he was determined to foster that potential. It very well could be what Albus had said cryptically to him over the summer: Potter might not be the deciding point of the war.

Severus had a feeling that the war would be decided by a bushy-haired Muggleborn that all the enemy looked down upon and underestimated. She had even fooled him and it pained him to admit that the girl was going to have more pressure on her than she could ever imagine. Not even he was involved with Voldemort in his fifth year; that had not come until later, not until his parents had been killed, not until Lily had started dating James bloody Potter.

Now, in her fifth year, the fate of Wizarding Britain rested on her shoulders, for surely the forces of Voldemort would crush them all even if the Dark Lord fell. The Death Eaters, dark forces, and sympathizers were many, and the resistance few. Oh, how the school children that Albus was preparing for such a devastating war would pale to know just how extensive the army they were up against was. Perish the thought – they were all Gryffindors.

Potter and his friends would charge recklessly into the fray without a thought and endanger them all.

Severus realized that he was staring at the modified Dreamless Sleep potion with something akin to Lockhart's spacy gaze. It disconcerted him and he quickly blinked. He would have to finish up the work here and retire. It was with a heavy heart and a sombre expression that he decanted the now-raspberry potion, cleaned the cauldron, and brewed a batch of his own version so that Poppy would have two choices.

Despite the importance the young Miss Granger had for them all, Severus could not help but feel excited that he might have found a suitable apprentice after all these years. Merlin, there was a reason for teaching if he could occasionally even have a glimpse of talent. Now, more than ever, though, he could not afford a misstep among his less than savory acquaintances. Now, more than ever, he had to be on top of his Occlumency shields.

He would have to be chagrined about his continued teaching of Granger instead of delighted at her talents. Severus sighed. It had been over fifteen years and he was tired of playing the game. After this was all over it would be nice to have an apprentice. Once he could stop being so dreadful to everyone around him, he would take on an apprentice. At one point he had considered Draco, if only because of the connection they shared.

Now, though, even though he still did not like the wench, he thought he would ask Miss Granger. In a different world, he would. In this one, he never would, not officially, and only unofficially under feigned duress and pressure from Albus. It was simply too dangerous otherwise.

Severus needed alcohol.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ Yeah, it's at the end this time. I figured I'd add it here so not to give anything away in the chapter. Logan – my son, I don't know if I've shared his name before – is teething, so __this chapter has taken forever to write. I apologize. I hope I have met your expectations. I certainly have exceeded mine; this chapter is ridiculously long compared to my other ones. And it's all in the course of a few hours, but I thought it all was very important. Don't worry, Sev isn't going to go all soft on Hermione and they definitely aren't going to develop any sort of trust or even a camaraderie for several more chapters at least. The next few are going to include: High Inquisitor, Severus reviewing Hermione's potions journals, the first DA meeting, Umbridge's first forays into inquisition. Our two fated lovebirds aren't really going to see each other outside of regular class for at least six or seven more chapters. Maybe less, depending what I shove into each one. But there's going to be a lot of wordage in between now and their next private meeting. Thank you to my reviewers =] I love you guys and I continue for you and for those who put my story on updates. The next few months, I'll still be updating fairly irregularly but thank you so much for sticking with me! It means a lot. Now review!_


	8. Chapter Seven: Inquisition and Blood

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing that you would recognize._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Inquisition &amp; Blood<strong>

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><p>Hermione had dutifully handed her potions journals over to Professor Snape with something akin to glee gnawing deliciously at her insides, although she schooled her expression to near clinical indifference. He could not know just how pleased she was to finally have her innate talent recognized by him. He had simply nodded and informed her that he would read through them and develop a higher level curriculum for her by command of the Headmaster. It pained her to see him so withdrawn about it, but she supposed he must.<p>

After all, Hermione was Muggleborn. If Voldemort knew that his trusted Death Eater was tutoring her in potions, then she shuddered to think what would happen. Using the Headmaster as a cover was still risky; she would have to come up with a reason that Voldemort would not suspect her professor as a traitor.

She sighed as she made her way up the dungeon stairs. It was almost time for breakfast, and she knew that if she was not there on time the boys would worry needlessly and question where she was. Still, there was so much work to be done. Although they now had guessed what the Ministry's problem with Hogwarts was, she still had to form their little class and there was no place yet to have it.

The first Hogsmeade weekend was still so far away, and she only had contacted the handful of people she deemed trustworthy. There were no others, yet, that she knew of beside the basic list of Gryffindors, two Hufflepuffs, and a handful of Ravenclaws. Hermione knew better than to ask any of the Slytherins. None of them were very trustworthy and it was unknown to her which ones had any connection to Voldemort. The small size of the group did not matter though if there was no place to practice, to learn.

Her potion took precedence but there was only so much she would be able to do with that. It was only the second week of classes tomorrow, and she needed to get ahead on her coursework so that she would have time to address her potion without interruption. Oh, she had pored over her copy of _Protection & Perfection: Magical Properties of Herbs and Beasts _by H. M. Bloodworth, but had only stumbled on one or two things to further her efforts, and the end result only changed a little. There might be something in one of the Muggle books on herb lore and mythology that she could uncover, but she had not had time to do anything more than peruse the first few pages of each.

Hermione knew that her Occlumency lessons were important, if only because it could potentially be useful in the future and because her success motivated Harry. They were also exhilarating because she could shock the unflappable Potions Master of Hogwarts.

As for her new advanced potions tutor – the aforementioned Potions Master – well, she had to keep him out of trouble for teaching her. That still eluded her and he most likely would not accept her help. Perhaps she could go to McGonagall; the woman was trustworthy and could point her in the right direction, although Professor Snape still would not think her very apt if she tried to help. The man was downright insufferable and she knew she would never be able to deal very well with him.

She chuckled to herself. And Harry thought he had it bad – he only had to worry about Quidditch and Voldemort. The boy still had not matured enough to care much in the way of homework, and though he was passing all of his classes with an Acceptable, at least, only had the highest grades in defence up until now. Umbridge was sure to fail him, despite his now subdued demeanour in her class

She sank into her customary seat and flicked her eyes up at the Head Table. Hermione noticed that Hagrid still was not in attendance, and her heart fell. The three friends had looked forward to their afternoon visits and tea with the half-giant. She let her eyes roam over to Professor Snape, who looked positively venomous. Professor McGonagall nearly echoed his expression. Abject horror fell over her as she realized that Dolores Umbridge was gleeful.

Not taking her eyes off the Head Table, she greeted Harry and Ron without faltering: "Did you two finish your History of Magic homework?" It was so easy for her to stop worrying for a moment about her list of projects and distract herself from Umbridge's apparent delight by chiding the boys. They both looked sheepish. "Harry! Ron! It's due tomorrow _morning_! Why haven't you done it? I gave you both study guides at the beginning of the year! Honestly, how could you two ever hope to be Aurors if you don't make your OWLs?"

"But Quidditch trials are this Thursday! Harry and I, we've been practising. I'm getting good, maybe good enough to make the team, Hermione!" Ron protested as he loaded up a fork with scrambled eggs. Without further ado, he turned his attention away from Hermione and shovelled his food into his face. Hermione could not help but feel disappointed in him; he had told her that he wanted to do better this year scholastically.

She looked to Harry for his explanation. Harry just sighed and looked down his nose. His excuse worried Hermione. "Nightmares," he explained. His mood remained sombre for a moment more, then visibly brightened as he gave her a hopeful glance. "Say, can we just copy yours?"

Great, she thought. Yet another year starting off with the two of them being myna birds and copying her work – no, she wouldn't stand for it. "I can give you my notes," she said, her nose tipping up and a small smile twisting her lips, "but I won't let you copy my work this year. You won't learn anything that way!" Settling into her own breakfast, she cast side eyes at Harry. Hopefully the lessons Professor Snape was giving them worked.

Breakfast for her was interrupted by the morning post and the delivery of her copy of The Daily Prophet. Harry protested that she still read the rubbish heap it had become, but she wanted to know her enemy. If she did not know what they were saying about Harry and the trio, how could she possibly help him to counter it? Besides, there was always news that might hint to Death Eater activity.

The front of this particular page screamed out, "HOGWARTS EDUCATIONAL REFORM" and underneath, in smaller letters, read, "Dolores Umbridge appointed Hogwarts High Inquisitor by the Minister of Magic with Educational Decree #23." Hermione's heart raced as she read the rest of the article. This had to be why the teachers other than Umbridge were looking so sour. Fudge had given the toad power over their positions in the castle and the power to write additional decrees.

"Oi!" came a startled exclamation from Ron. "I can't believe the nerve of that right wanker!" She glanced up from the end of the article, nearly satisfied with the knowledge it imparted. Ron was reading a letter from someone. As he read, his eyebrows knit closer and closer together.

Harry nudged him. "What is it?" the messy-haired boy asked his friend.

"Percy! He is warning me against you, telling me about Umbridge and singing her praises! He thinks it would be best if I clearly aligned myself with her! What a load of crock," Ron explained hastily, his fist slamming down on the table.

Hermione shuddered to think of Percy. She used to look up to him, when he was a Prefect and then the Head Boy. The boy – now man – had been so successful in school, everything her young self had wanted to be. Her illusions were shattered as he turned his back on his family, on his friends, and put his lot in with the Minister. No wonder he was ostracised from the Weasley home.

"Get this," he continued, lowering his voice. "It says something about inquisition. What d'ya think that means?"

Hermione quickly explained it to them, and both boys raised suitable protests. "Hush!" she chided, "It's done, and we cannot do anything about it right now." She knew that she wanted to prevent Umbridge from exercising her new control of Hogwarts staff and rules, but she also had other things to focus on. So did the boys. They were only fifteen – well, she was almost sixteen – and could only do so much. Hermione wondered if she had already taken too much on for that year.

Well, she knew she had. It was nothing she had not done before. "We watch. We listen. We avoid her notice by behaving," she said levelly, "A concept which you two are distinctly unfamiliar with." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at each of them in turn. Ron and Harry were always dragging her along with them, but this year she would definitely be stopping them.

At least, she hoped she would. It did not occur to her that their little defence club could break the rules yet, and she counted on Ron and Harry keeping out of trouble. Nevertheless, she knew that Umbridge pushed Harry's buttons. At least one of them could stay out of trouble, she hoped. Ron's head was a bit more level than Harry's this year and he was not quite as prone to fits and tantrums. Even though both had matured, Harry still had a bit of a hot head in certain circumstances.

Umbridge and Voldemort seemed to be one of them, but that was completely understandable.

"Well, we should get back to the common room," she declared. Hermione stood up and with her hands on her hips, cocked her head to the side. "Homework isn't going to simply do itself, and knowing you lot, you still need to do _all_your homework. Come on, then!" She grabbed her own bag and, giving the boys a last pointed look, headed to the Entrance Hall and the staircases.

*****break*****

Severus was itching to see what Granger had done and taken note of in her potions journals and he finally had a chance to. Though the chit had come immediately before breakfast like he had asked, there was still the matter of eating to attend to and then afterwards Umbridge had called a staff meeting. The Ministry crony was going to evaluate their classes and curriculum, editing them at her leisure.

Severus was not happy with that meddlesome witch or with the arrangement that the Ministry had proposed. He was quite certain that the potions he had his students brew were above scrutiny, since none of them were remotely dangerous – the dangerous potions were mostly covered in theory class and not in lab, but still he worried.

He sighed and settled onto his sofa to flip through the first pages of the Granger girl's earliest book. It was second year, and she opened with the Polyjuice potion. There were no additions, only her notes on the brewing process and the effects of the potion. He chuckled as he read the twelve-year-old's adventure as a cat and her block lettering that contained a spell to identify the source of hair. It was one he had never heard of, but he supposed it was a charm. That was one of his weaker points – charms. He had never seen the use. Severus would ask Filius about it; perhaps the diminutive wizard had seen it.

If not, it meant that Granger was inventing spells along with everything else she was doing. What wasn't she good at? Well, he did remember the rumours about her last Divination class. His lips twisted up as he turned the pages, looking over first the potions she brewed on her own, and then the potions she brewed with enhancements. Towards the end of her second year, she had managed to add a little bit of enhancement to the boil-cure potion and tested it on herself.

She had added chamomile to sooth the itch that curing boils usually came with. He was impressed; it was something he had discovered himself, but not in his second year. He read on. She still didn't brew many enhanced potions, maybe one to every six potions in her third year. She tested all the potions she brewed, though many of them were also covered in class.

Towards the middle of the third year, he was surprised to see her notes turn towards the curriculum potions. She would brew one version in class, take notes on the process, and then do something completely different to the potion outside of class. It was enchanting to read her thought processes. It was enchanting to see how she came across new techniques and made a note of every single one.

Fourth year she started using arithmancy to further assist her potions development, and this was what led her to the improved Dittany and Murtlap essences. It was also, at the very end, when she had developed the Dreamless Sleep further; there were pages of equations with different ingredients and it took her what appeared to be several days to stumble across the Baku claws. He finished flipping through the end of fourth thin tome and sighed.

One more to go, but he needed to take a break and see Albus. He stood and straightened his robes, setting aside the thicker tome, the half-filled one. His legs and neck were stiff from sitting so long; he noticed with some alarm that lunch was passed and dinner was in an hour or two. His eyebrows knit together.

It wouldn't do to be skipping meals with Umbridge watching their every move. Severus berated himself for making such a mistake. If the woman took her powers seriously and, like he suspected, became a dictator, he would have to bend to her will lest he lose his station here. The Dark Lord would be displeased if he could not keep an eye on the Potter brat and his friends _and_if he fell out of confidence with Albus and the other higher ups in the order it would be even worse.

Severus sighed. The Dark Lord was much less logical and more insane this time around. Last time he was dangerous, but he was still mostly human. He had higher brain functioning and had sharp wit, charm, humour, but he had lost most of that when he lost his body and fell the first time. Most of the new recruits were those that powerful figures like Lucius Malfoy turned over. The Dark Lord was a terrifying monster now, one who punished cruelly for even the simplest failures.

He took a handful of Floo powder and threw it into his fire, shouting, "Headmaster's Office," before he stuck his head through.

"Albus?"

"You may come through, Severus," he heard the old man answer, and he did indeed come through, dusting himself off as he unfolded his body from the fireplace. Surveying the room to determine that he was the only one around, he nodded to his employer. "What troubles you?" Albus asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Granger," he muttered, "Is there anything the know-it-all doesn't do well?"

Albus smiled. "Of course. Her work in defence when learning offensive spells has always been a little behind Harry's. Miss Granger's prowess lies in pure defence and protection, in passive abilities. Charms for protection spells and wards, potions for cures, transfiguration for disguise – my boy, haven't you noticed? She is Harry Potter's counterpoint. Where he rushes through without, as you would say, subtlety, she takes time to think and prepare. He is more suited to offence, but he does need her to counterbalance him. Ron Weasley, I think, will eventually be the middle ground of the three. His talents lie with chess and Quidditch."

What chess, Quidditch, and the whole of Albus' speech had to do with his current problem, he could not say. The infuriating old codger was right, though. He had noticed, even with potions, that Granger did better with the cures and things such as calming draughts than she did with poisons. Looking back on the reading he had done that morning, all of her enhanced potions had been peaceable ones. He wasn't privy to her other coursework, though, but he would have to take the Headmaster's word.

"She's enhanced potions!"

"Of course she has. She's been using Myrtle's bathroom these past few years to brew in private. I take it that Myrtle is most accommodating. Is that your only protest, unless you plan to tell me that she has also finished her work on that other potion we discussed?"

"No. She's just insufferable! The chit is a walking encyclopedia! She wasn't supposed to be a damnable prodigy! I can't take her on as an apprentice, Albus! That's the problem!"

"Ah, so you finally see that she has potential."

The affirmative grated through Severus' gritting teeth. He did not want to admit that, even now after all the work of hers he had read that morning. She had used arithmancy and her photographic memory of books to improve potions he had not seen as enhanceable. The girl had even gone to the Muggle world in a few instances.

Merlin's balls, she even cited her sources in the journals, her personal journals!

"And what of her project?"

"She refuses to speak of it, Albus. She won't even admit to working on it," Severus sighed. The Headmaster should know better than to expect him to make any progress on the matter in a few short days. "Though she may trust me in matters of Order business, she still sees me as the black bastard of the dungeons. I still seem to have a problem in staying my tongue around her. The girl is cheeky, disrespectful, and disobedient!"

"Is she?"

Albus would have died then if looks could kill. The Headmaster was just as insufferable as any Gryffindor, and he had lived over a hundred years to perfect the art of Gryffindor brashness in a manner so that it almost seemed Slytherin. Severus would be damned to admit he was mostly irritated that it was Granger, that he could not nurture her in potions the way he would have liked. He was irritated that the best friend of Potter could be his protégée. He did not want to admit what Albus already knew: he still held a grudge against the Marauders, and therefore, the Gryffindor trio.

"Albus..." he trailed off, trying to decide how he could say it best. "It matters not. If I took her or provided her with private lessons, the Dark Lord would have my head for sure! It is a risk I am not willing to take!" He slammed his palms down onto the desk, rattling the various instruments that were on top.

To his credit, the old man did not appear taken aback. Albus had endured many of Severus' tantrums over the past sixteen years. "Well, then you're just going to have to do it differently. Her Occlumency lessons must be kept private, but Severus...you will pen a letter to the Dark Lord, asking if you can take on an apprentice. You will explain that she has been labelled as a Muggleborn, but she is, in reality, a distant relation to Harry as well as his best friend. Make it clear that if you were to gain her trust under the guise as a treasured teacher you will be privy to even more of Harry's secrets."

That was exactly what Severus wanted. He knew that Albus would swiftly put a lie together involving the students. If it came from Albus, the Granger girl would go through with it. He had wanted the Headmaster's sanction, as well, to involve Granger in a lie so that he could further her education. She was way beyond a fifth year potions level.

He would write tonight, after dinner. He knew that his answer would not come by mail. It would come through a summons. "Be prepared to cover for me on Tuesday in case the Dark Lord does not approve of my...idea," he warned.

"You need to inform Harry and Miss Granger of this new change in circumstance tonight, so they are prepared," Albus informed him.

Severus cursed his luck. It should have been the Headmaster to inform the two. He supposed he could work it into how he had discovered Granger's relationship with Potter. He sighed; it would take much to convince the Dark Lord that it was true. "I suppose you wish for me to prepare the proper paperwork?" he inquired.

"Oh no. I've got it right here," Albus sparkled. "They really are related. Most muggleborns can trace their ancestry to a Squib. Lily Evans' great-great-great grandmother was one. One of her daughters married an Evans. The other one married a Granger."

Severus felt suddenly angry. There was nothing similar between Granger and his Lily, other than their house and Granger's intelligence. If he was honest, it even rivalled Lily's. Albus was treated to one of his trademark greasy-git glares, but remained unaffected as always. How the infuriating old man could sit there and twinkle so, Severus did not understand.

"I trace all Muggleborn lineage back until I find the Squib. They're usually much further removed from the magical births than Lily and Miss Granger's ancestor was, but all Muggleborn have magical ancestors," Albus said, as if it explained everything. His bright eyes still twinkled merrily, and his lips were curved in a maddeningly gleeful smile.

Severus had never wanted to kill him so much. "And just _how_has the Dark Lord not yet discovered this piece of information?"

If possible, Albus' smile became wider. The man was almost Slytherin in what followed that mad grin. "Simple, Severus. He just never thought to look, of course."

As much as that did make sense given the Dark Lord's inability to see the larger scope of things, especially in recent years, Severus still wondered. The Dark Lord must have discounted Lily Evans Potter's side of the family as all Muggle and therefore not worth noting. His mood, however, was grim. "This will put Miss Granger in unbelievable danger," he noted.

"It is a risk we must take," Albus said, peering over his glasses. "If word of her potions research gets out, she will be in even more danger. She must seem as important as possible to the Dark Lord at such a time. It is the obvious move. More, it provides a solution to the current predicament. Remedial lessons for Potter are one thing, but advanced lessons for a Gryffindor Muggleborn was entirely different.

"Fine," Severus barked. As he spun on his feet, his robes billowed dramatically. As he stepped through the Floo into his own office, he realized had not brought up the Umbridge situation. He cursed himself over that. Despite his growing enthusiasm for working more closely with Granger over potions and his desire to work with anyone that was innovative in such matters, she was fifteen! How dare Albus be so flippant about leading her into danger?

He scratched out hasty scrawl to Potter and the chit – his personal owl would deliver it at dinner. These Occlumency lessons had snowballed into something he was not sure if he even wanted to handle, and he debated tying the small note to the eagle owl's leg. The lure of working with Granger, despite her unfortunate status as the most annoying student he ever had, won him over.

The research she had conducted at fifteen on a powerful potion he could have only ever dreamed of was also a lure. If he could get that, she could be superfluous. Albus would not allow that method but it was a nice thought.

The Dark Lord, of course, would kill him if he disposed of something that useful to the cause. The cause. Severus snorted. Even though the Dark Lord was a threat, he was much more disorganized than Severus allowed the Order to believe. The bigger a threat they perceived Voldemort, the more prepared they would be when the Dark Lord finally became organized.

For now, he was grateful that his erstwhile master was laying low. It made his job much easier. The next letter he penned to the Dark Lord, explaining 'his' plan when it came to Granger and using her to get to Potter. He included that Albus had revealed her to be a distant relation of Potter's, therefore she was not a Mudblood but rather descended from a long line of Squibs.

The easy part over with, the acerbic man prepared himself for the hard part: informing Potter and Granger of their kinship.

*****break*****

Harry and Hermione puzzled over Professor Snape's note. His spiky handwriting looked normal and the tone of the note was typical Professor Snape: "My office after curfew. Use the infernal cloak." The man's order to break the rules, however, was not.

"Something's up," Harry whispered and Hermione hoped that Ron was too engrossed in what Ginny was saying about the Cannons to pay attention. She nodded and glanced up to the Head Table. The professor's scowl was in place even as he discussed some topic with Professor McGonagall. Hermione couldn't tell what was wrong; for Professor Snape to sanction the use of the cloak meant that there was some problem.

"Don't tell Ron, Harry," Hermione hissed, "We need to keep quiet about this until we know what's going on." She knew that the redhead would be angry at them. Last time he had even assumed that Harry had kept a secret, he had been furious. Their life would soon be a barrage of secrets, though she hoped that Ron would be privy to more of them. Harry nodded, a worried glance cast in Ron's direction. Hermione would take the blame should Ron become angry; Harry needed his friends, especially Ron. The two had more in common than Hermione did with Harry.

"Alright. Meet you by the portrait hole after light's out?"

It was her turn to nod even though Harry looked somewhat defeated. He still smarted after Dumbledore swore Hermione and Harry to secrecy most likely. Hermione knew that he had tried to be the better man. They had a long talk about things before they had left for Hogwarts. Harry had said that he was going to try his hardest to tell Ron and her everything, even if he was told not to. She had been flattered to discover that he had viewed her and Ron as his true family. She nudged him and smiled at the memory. "We'll tell him as soon as we get back tonight," she assured Harry. "It's probably nothing, just another remedial lesson. You know how much help I am to you."

A dazed look crossed Harry's face as he mulled over his word, then a wide grin lit up his face. "Good one, Hermione," he said with a laugh. Her answering smile was small. She was glad that he remembered that his Occlumency lessons were under the disguise of remedial potions. "Never would have thought of that." Hermione knew that much; Harry had matured a lot since Cedric's death but he still thought recklessly, preferring to speak first without thinking of the need for secrecy.

She hoped that with the defence organization, he would see the need to keep a secret. She hoped that they would soon have a place where to have the students meet; even meeting in the Hog's Head like she planned could backfire, and she wanted to have somewhere more secure. If Umbridge discovered them, there would be consequences. Just what they would be, Hermione could not say, but she did not want to find out.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ Alright, this is not the chapter I wanted it to be. I also had terrible writer's block all throughout it and it took me too long to write. Not much happened – but up next, we find out how Hermione and Harry react to being related, how Ron reacts, and dear Severus is summoned. If it goes as planned, which I doubt, we'll get to catch up to Dobby and even have Quidditch tryouts._

_In other news, I have a job (!). My son is now four months old (well, almost) and he had his first taste of carrots today. He tried to eat my cheeseburger two days ago, so I decided it was high time he get real food._

_Thank you greatly to my readers and reviewers; I will try to become more frequent as time and life go on._


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